The Legacy Part 1
by Rich-As-A-Queen
Summary: A sequel to the Sarah Waters novel, Fingersmith. Picking up where the novel left off, Maud and Sue find that there is more than just money to an inheritance, and that the legacy of their past will put their love for each other to the ultimate test.
1. Chapter 1

My name, in those days, was Susan Lilly

My name, in those days, was Susan Lilly. But that was done solely for the benefit of the lawyers, to print in the records only, and everyone knew me still as Susan Trinder. Maud was still introduced as Miss Lilly by Mr and Mrs Inker to whoever called at Briar, for the Inkers were still unaware that I was now reckoned to be the mistress of the house and the rightful heir to all it contained. It was easier that way, and because it was just the four of us in that vast empty place there was no one around to tell them otherwise.

I hardly remember the details of the transaction that made me Miss Lilly by rights. The shock of the discovery of my birthright and the even greater shock of finding Maud still living at Briar rendered my days thereafter a blur for a time, and I could not fully comprehend the significance of Maud's words when she told me her Uncle, Mr Lilly, had died and left it all to his niece. Me, in other words.

She took me to Marlow, in the same little dog cart that brought me to Briar the first time, and then we took the train to Maidenhead to pay a visit on her uncle's lawyer whom she had already written to. I remember more than anything else I was worried that when the time came for me to write my name I would falter or stumble in the handling of the pen in front of Maud; and such was my awe of her that I can still recall my elation when I penned it unerringly, yet what I had put my name to I cannot begin to remember. Perhaps that was why she was able to pull that trick over me later on, in London, when it came time to collect my mother's money. But I am getting ahead of myself. My story begins after I came back to Briar, before we thought about the money, but if I knew then what a bother my mother's legacy was going to cause I might have thrown it all into the Thames.

It was maybe a month or two before Christmas, scant weeks since I found her, before I had an inkling of just how meagre our finances were, but why should I have known before? I never had to worry about figures or money when I was living with Mrs Sucksby. I never thought to ask Maud and she hadn't told me how hard up we were for money. Indeed, when I think back on it I see that Maud kept me in those days much like I had been accustomed to by Mrs Sucksby and Mr Ibbs. She fussed over me and bid me rest under soft down-filled covers and brought me rich foods to fatten me, for I had become so thin from the illness I suffered through in London that I was for once thinner than she. I never once gave this luxury a thought, but was content to bask in the warm glow of our reunion and lay about her rooms dressed in her finest silk gowns and living like a kept woman. The Inkers were so grateful to me for putting a glow on Maud's cheeks and a smile to her lips that they did nothing to lessen the illusion of plenty. Mrs Inker, especially, took great pleasure in confiding to me that Maud was so changed since my return that she felt the whole house was lit up like never before. It never occurred to me to ask her if the reason most of the rooms were kept dark was that we could ill afford the candles. No, the only way I was able to see the true state of our affairs was when I was finally able to peel my eyes off of Maud and look about me.

We went everywhere together, Maud and I, about the house and sometimes the grounds, and of course to our bed at night, so that Mr Inker called us the Siamese sisters. I believe he meant that as an endearment. The only time we were separate were those times when Maud kept to herself in the library to do her writing. The writing was the only thing that was _hers_, as opposed to _ours_. The money she got for it earned her some extra coin but I tried not to think about the words she penned while I waited idle for her to come out from that room. She told me once that she wrote words of love, but I wondered if she said that simply for my sake. At night she occasionally read to me what she claimed she had written that day; words to warm our hearts and sometimes set my limbs trembling with the want of her, but that was simply because it was she who read them and because of her nearness beside me. At other times when I was alone, waiting for her, I was sometimes caught by Mrs Inker staring at the library door, while I wondered what kind of words would be for sale in the London bookshops. Would they be the same words of love, or something more akin to what I had seen in Mr Lilly's filthy books? Those had girls in them who acted like whores and the men who pleasured them with whips and straps. Who would read her books, and if her words made them tremble, who would they imagine was stirring their passions? My Maud? I admit I sometimes sickened at the thought of it, but also felt a secret kind of envy for the strangers who had that part of her which I was certain she denied me. At times like these the emptiness of Briar clung to me like an oppressive fog and I would flee the house for the air outside.

It was one such afternoon, that I decided to walk about the grounds outside. It was one of those autumn days when the sun was unnaturally hot for a spell, and the dried stalks in the borders glared like metal in the light so that even my hat failed to shield my eyes from the brightness about me. In the warmth of the sun my skin began to prickle beneath my stays but I was determined not to retreat inside only to fret in the gallery outside the library. What I needed… what the whole house needed was something to brighten it, I thought. Perhaps, I wondered, there will still be some stalks of purple loosestrife in bloom down by the river, or some of the little white asters hiding beneath the fallen leaves in the overgrown borders? I left the gravel path and picked my way gingerly through the neglected grass towards the shrubbery that hugged the wall of the house, conscious that the rounded hummocks hid all matters of hazards. It was while I was making my slow way across the grass that I heard Mr Inker call to me.

"Oh, Miss Smith, you mustn't poke about there!"

I stopped and looked up to find Mr Inker trotting breathlessly along the gravel path pushing a wheelbarrow in front of him. He must have come from the garden shed round the corner. The effort had caused his lank, greying hair to come unstuck and hang down his sweat beaded forehead. He set the wheelbarrow down and wiped his hands on his apron before thrusting the offending locks back into place. I had my hands on my hips and frowned at the old man.

"Please call me Susan, Mr Inker," I chided him. He was so forgetful at times.

He blinked in confusion. "Ah, yes Miss Susan, sorry."

I smiled. "Don't be, I don't know what Maud and I would do without you. We quite depend on you and Mrs Inker."

He looked abashed and lowered his eyes to the wheelbarrow, an object that sparked his memory anew for I saw him jerk his face to mine.

"Now Miss Susan, you must come out of there and keep away from the walls."

He had waded into the long grass and I saw him extend an age-spotted hand towards me like I was drowning. When I didn't move he waggled his hand for emphasis.

"It's not safe there Miss," he explained. "Look at that!"

I frowned and followed his gaze. _That _was simply a piece of masonry, like a fragment of a brick wall, lying at an odd angle in the grass nearby. I hadn't noticed it simply because a house as old as Briar seemed to naturally accumulate a fair amount of useless rubble around it over time, and this one in particular seemed to collect more than most. It was not like I was feeble and at risk of tripping and hurting myself on it, though. I was about to say so when I noticed poor Mr Inker wring his hands anxiously and peer at a point above my head. Curious, I followed his gaze to the house and to where the scabby tentacles of ivy clung tenaciously to the crumbling brickwork atop the walls.

Mr Inker grunted, "See? The chimney's come down last night and the rest might fall atop whoever stands where you are, Miss."

I turned to stare at him, but the full meaning of what he was saying dawned on me and with a yelp I scampered back to the path, pulled across the last bit of lawn by Mr Inkers own strong arm.

I held my hat to my head breathlessly. "Lord, to be crushed by a chimney! How ever would you explain that to Maud?"

He could not find anything amusing in it and frowned as he took up the handles of the wheelbarrow. I shielded my eyes with my hand and looked up at the shattered remains of what had been a stately chimney.

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

Mr Inker turned the wheelbarrow on the path. "Do? Got to clean up the mess, Miss."

I laid a hand on his arm. "What, that? You can't move that. It must weigh two-score stone or more! Besides, what would Maud and I do if you should be killed when the rest of it comes crashing down on you?"

"I can't leave it there," he replied.

Why not, I thought, the whole rotten place was in shambles and one more crumb wouldn't make a particle of difference, but I didn't say that. Instead I took his arm.

"Then we shall hire someone to make a proper job of it," I said brightly.

He stopped abruptly and knit his brow. "We can't hire someone!"

"What is it?" I asked and leaned towards him. "Why not?"

He shot me a look and worried at his lower lip with his teeth. He then shook his head.

I laughed. "How strange you are, Mr Inker!" I scolded him, but he looked about him lest anyone overheard our words. Who was he guarding us from, I wondered? Just as I thought that surely he could not possibly have any secrets from anyone living here, he lowered his voice conspiratorially.

"There's no money, Miss," he said fretfully. "Naught a penny for anything, 'cept a washer woman now and again."

I stepped away from him to look at him, as if some kind of trick of the light made me hear it like that.

"What?" I asked incredulously. "No money at all? I can't believe you. You haven't said so before, and what about all the food? There's plenty of money for that."

He flinched, for I had looked reproachfully at him, and he only spoke reluctantly.

"The butcher allows us credit, Miss, and he ain't too particular about the arrears; as does the coal man. Even the horse is pastured to save on the feed."

I put my hand to my forehead. "In arrears? Coal as well? Why has no one told me of this?"

He looked up guiltily. "Miss Lilly, she told me not to mention it to you."

"Maud?" I blurted.

"Yes, Miss, she said didn't want to burden you with her troubles. She said that she can manage for the both of you."

"She said?" I declared, so loud that Mr Inker was taken aback. I felt something flare in me akin to the sensation I felt when I thought that Mr Inker believed I should fall over the chimney and hurt myself. I looked up at the crumbling walls of Briar, not to the broken chimney, but to search for the window that marked the library where she worked. The blood at my temples pounded in the heat, and I clenched my fists and thought peevishly: Am I a child who must be coddled, and be told nothing about the world? Am I not mistress here after all; or am I just a guest in my own house, to be made comfortable and endured while she waits patiently for me to leave? I pursed my lips; _I won't have it_. Mr Inker must have guessed at my sudden intentions 'cause he pawed ineffectually at my sleeve as I turned from him and marched purposefully back into the house and left him to mutter worriedly after the swirling hem of my gown.

The hall seemed very dark after the brightness outside so that I missed the first step on the stairs and swore coarsely when I banged my shin on it. The pain only served to sour my mood further and I ran up the two flights of stairs to the gallery above. By the time I had reached the top my eyes had adjusted to the gloom but I could not catch my breath inside my stays and had to stop lest I faint from lack of air. I looked toward the library door while I sucked great gobs of air to slow my breathing and I was uncomfortably aware that I was sweating profusely into my gown. Christ, the state I let her get me into, I thought ruefully. After a time, I walked to the door slowly, to give myself a moment more to figure out the words I would say to her, but still I hesitated at the threshold.

What was I going to say; that she needn't be afraid to tell me anything, or was it I who really needed the assurance not to be afraid? Before I knew it I had opened the door and stood in the doorway, just like I had stood a hundred times before when she laboured for Mr Lilly; and just like those times I found myself speechless.

She hadn't noticed me yet, for it had not been so long since Mr Lilly had been alive that the hinges had lost their oil and so the door had opened as soundlessly as ever. Watching her, I might even have been tempted to think that we were still back in those days except that she no longer wore the childlike gowns that Mr Lilly fancied her in, nor was she half so fastidious now that he wasn't around to worry about the perfection of his blasted books. Her hair had come loose a bit and I saw her blow it away from her face absently. There was ink on her fingers and on her brow where it was her habit to rest her head on her hands. Of course this is not to say she had become sloppy since I had come back to her. I still helped to dress her in clothes as nice as she ever wore, and her figure was just as fine as it was back then. It was just that she had taken to work such ever-increasing hours at her books that I noticed how they had begun to wear on her.

I had never watched her like that, while she wrote her books. You might think me daft but I've always been a bit afraid of that room. I had been afraid to interrupt her at what I had understood was _her_ pleasure; the pleasure she denied me. At that moment, standing there unseen, I couldn't see what pleasure she got out of it, if any. I watched her as she bit at her finger and sighed in frustration at the page in front of her, then blinked and rubbed wearily at her eye. Clearly this was work, as burdensome as any task Mr Lilly used to set out for her, and I had to stop myself from rushing to her side just to satisfy my curiosity a minute longer. Why did she do it, I wondered, if not for herself? She didn't do it for me surely; or did she?

If I had any notion of moving or if I had a smidgeon of anger left in me those thoughts were swept away in an instant. I suddenly wondered whether it really was possible that she was doing all this purely for my benefit. P'raps there weren't any other source of money than this. Could I have been so blunt all this time not to have realized it, not to have asked, I thought guiltily? To know to what lengths she had been going just to keep me in luxury while I lay about in idleness. Christ, I thought; could she really have thought I would leave her if I knew how little she earned? How could she think that!

"Sue?"

I gasped, for I had not noticed she had been staring at me for Lord know how long, and my thoughts were so jumbled that I did not know what to say. She wore a smile, though, without any trace of irritation at my interruption, and simply looked expectantly at my foolish face.

"Maud!" I stammered and must have sounded like a child. "I, I've come to ask you. Why don't you stop for a bit. We could walk together."

She glanced ever so quickly in dissatisfaction toward the growing mound of paper at the edge of the desk in front of her, and then let slip a sigh.

"I have to finish this, Sue. You go on ahead and perhaps I will catch up with you."

I went to her but her look seemed to confirm all my fears. I knelt beside her and took up her ink-stained hand in mine and rubbed at the spot where the very flesh of her finger appeared to have grown round her pen.

"Maud," I pleaded. "You work too hard at this. You are tired."

She gave a dismissive laugh that only seemed to emphasise her fatigue and waved her pen with her free hand in a carefree gesture, but her words tumbled forth restlessly. "I am feeling fine, Sue, really. It's just that if I can have this finished today, I can post it this week. Then we will have the money to pay the Inkers and repay some of the advance Mr Hawtrey gave me last month and maybe have enough left over.-"

"Maud," I stopped her and stroked her hand.

"Maud," I repeated more softly and she grew still and expectant. My eyes cast about her desk, to the innumerable words scattered among the paper, trying to find a few for myself.

Finally I said, "When I came back here, you wrote words like they were meant just for the two of us; for me really; and your words were exactly the same as the touch of your fingers, or the feel of your lips."

Maud let the pen fall and drew my hand to her mouth and rested her head against my arm.

"They were meant for you, Sue," she said in a small voice. "They have always been."

"No," I said and that drew her eyes towards mine. "You write them for Hawtrey now."

She shook her head and grimaced. "Please, Sue."

I drew my arm back so that my hand rested against her cheek. "Then why didn't you tell me there was none of Mr Lilly's money left. That you must now write whatever it is that Hawtrey makes you write just to get by from day to day."

I felt her jaw stiffen and saw her lips grow thin. "Because it is what I _can_ do; and do it well!"

"A coalheaver's just as good with a shovel, or a seamstress with her needle, yet I would die rather than see you made so poorly."

She drew away from me and raised her chin. "Is that how you see me, Sue?"

"Oh Maud! You're more, so much more; but I think I can guess what Hawtrey wants from you and you are wasting your talents making it for him."

She coloured and averted her eyes. That hit the mark, I thought. I saw her swallow.

"I have no choice, Sue. You see, there never was any money."

"No money?" I exclaimed and looked about me in confusion. It was not possible, I thought. How could Mr Lilly have afforded the servants or indulged his lavish fancy for books?

My gaze settled back on her. "But this house and everything-."

"Debts, Sue," she shrugged. "Mr Lilly left the estate quite indebted. What little real money he had left was used to settle his affairs; that and what I got for the furnishings. Well, what you got really. It was all yours in the end and you agreed to settle your uncle's debts utterly."

I stared at her crimson cheeks. _I settled his debts?_

"When I took you to the lawyers in Maidenhead," she added, reading my expression.

When we saw the lawyer; of course, I didn't remember a thing about it. I might've signed my own death-warrant for all I knew; but for anyone but Maud to have done that behind my back….

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.

There was a catch in my voice, and I must have moved away from her because I found that her desk had come between us. She must have saw it too, 'cause her eyes grew wide and she tried to reach for me across it.

"You were sick, Sue!" she pleaded. "After all you'd been through; I thought of nothing but how to keep you. You don't know how it was for me before. I was resigned to think I'd lost you forever. I couldn't believe my good fortune when you came back through that door; and then I found I couldn't bear to disappoint you. Not again; not after what Richard and I had done to you. I was afraid."

I shook my head at her. So it really was as I had imagined it. The silly girl was afraid I'd leave her. As if I could. I couldn't be angry with her. If you could've seen her face then you would have known she could melt a stone with it, not withstanding my heart. I went around the desk back to her and I saw her throat move convulsively.

"I was afraid you wouldn't stay with me," she said desperately.

"And you thought you knew me," I said, throwing back upon her the very same words she used to me the first day I came back, but she issued a palpable sigh of relief when, rather than remain cross with her, I instead reached for her to rub the smudge of ink from her forehead. I licked a corner of my handkerchief and applied it to her in the same manner that Mrs Sucksby used on me as a girl. Maud grimaced but submitted willingly to such coarse treatment.

"It would take more than poverty for you to be rid of me," I chided her gently, "and if you had told me earlier we might not have reached this point."

I finished and kissed her forehead where I had reddened it. She took a deep breath.

"So now you know why I must finish this," she said and looked sourly at the paper spread before her. I frowned at it with her and imagined her work stretched before her day after day without end. What kind of life would that be?

"Maud," I said quietly, not daring to look at her. "What if there was another way to do this?"

I heard the rustle of her dress as she shifted in the chair. "Another way? What do you mean?"

"You know, Marianne's money," I said reluctantly.

There was a marked silence in the room, like ghosts were listening. I had to look at her then to see if she had felt it too, but she had her eyes on me and looked at me narrowly like I was a stranger.

I sighed. "Maud, we have to think about it, at least. It-"

"How could you!" she interjected and stood so suddenly the chair jumped noisily. "You of all people should know how I feel about that money."

"I do Maud," I said quickly and tried to catch her hand and calm her heart which beat visibly in the vein on her throat, but she snatched it away from me.

She grimaced and I saw her teeth gleam. "Do you not remember what that money is? It is lies and greed and deception. Everything that Gentleman made us do to each other; the terrible thing I did to you, Sue. We did them all for that money. Don't you see? To take it now would be to justify those foul deeds; to make them all worthwhile in the end. We cannot do it."

Her colour was up, and her eyes and lips were resolute, but I met her look equally and refused to look away. Mrs Sucksby had made me blunt, and Gentleman had taken me to Briar as a child; but I've had to learn to be my own mistress since then and though Maud might fancy she should make my mind up for me there was one thing I could not deny to myself: I had grown up.

I said to her. "We can, Maud. I know I pledged with you never to take the money, but things are different now. I have forgiven you a thousand times over for what happened. No amount of wishing it will undo what happened; but to do nothing at all and be poor, to work not as we want to but rather how we must; to have to live more and more in need for the want of things, is to let those things we did be master over us."

She shook her head. "You may forgive me, but how can I forgive myself for what I did for that money. Mrs Sucksby was my own mother, Sue, and I killed her as surely as if I had thrust the knife into her belly rather than Gentlem-."

"She _gave_ her life for you!" I cried, so forcefully that tears sprung into my eyes. "So that we both could have a better life, a happy life. It is her more than anyone who would have wanted us to use Marianne's money and if anyone has a claim on what she would want it's me!"

Maud looked away petulantly, "There's blood on that money, and more will be spilt if we claim it for ourselves."

"Dammit!" I cried, for my blood was up and in frustration I lashed out at her. "What would _you_ do with it, Maud, sew a pocket in the bust of your gown and keep it there forever?"

I didn't see her reaction, 'cause my tears clouded my eyes, but I just knew it were a low thing to say the moment the words left my mouth. I heard the swish of fabric and the clatter of her shoes before I realized she had run from the room, and even then I might have stopped her and made it up to her if my own pigheadedness hadn't got the better of me and made me run to the doorway and shout into the gallery.

"It's my money too, Maud, and I don't need you to get it!"

I staggered back into the library to fall weeping upon her desk and when I saw my tears had ruined the words she had just inked on the pages it made me cry all the worse. I cursed the day and wished I could do it all over again, but mostly I came to the sobering conclusion that perhaps I was not so grown up as I supposed.

It was the stillness that finally stirred me. When I stopped crying I sensed the deathly quiet that had descended all about the house. It was the silence of a house quite empty. I grew frightened by the thought that I had been left alone in the house by everyone, and I rushed into the gallery outside the room.

"Maud?" I called and in the silence my words sounded like I'd fired off a cannon within the echoing confines of the house.

I went upstairs to our rooms and back down to the front parlour which we never used. Even the kitchen was bare and so scrubbed you would think no one lived there.

"Maud?" I called at every turn only to hear my own mocking voice echo back to me.

Could they have left me all alone, I wondered? It was a foolish thought but one that made me tremble just the same. I had grown quite frantic by the time I passed through the front door and out onto the gravel drive. I squinted against the light while I turned full round to find her. I imagined she might have left with the Inkers in the cart, but then I thought to myself that I should have heard the cart being brought around. I passed round the side of the house and followed the path to the back of the house, toward the icehouse and to the little red chapel and the cemetery, overgrown with tall weeds, all the time peering this way and that, but of Maud there was no sign. I began to be convinced she had left with the Inkers but there was one place I hadn't looked yet. I ran for a bit until I found myself by the river. The afternoon light made the water sparkle and the points of light hurt my eyes. Someone moved on the other side. I shielded my eyes and wondered how Maud could get there. That's when I noticed it was not Maud, but a horse and rider. In the glare I could make out only a silhouette, but I gathered it was a man by the size. What made the horse stand out was the curious dark markings on the otherwise white flanks, like the shape of a hand. The rider spurred his mount around and moved away. I was still squinting through the glare when I heard a voice behind me.

"It was here," her voice made me jump.

"Oh, Maud, you gave me a start," I said breathlessly. She walked slowly to me and I noticed her eyes were shining. I don't think it was tears, probably just the light from the river. There was a stillness about her that gave me pause and when she was near me she turned to look down the river and we found ourselves standing side by side.

"It was here," she said again and I turned to follow her gaze, to where she pointed toward an upturned punt that had lain long years on the verge of the water. "On an afternoon much like this one, it was here, Sue, that I first realised I loved you."

I stared at her, but she spoke to the air, and I dared not move or say anything to break that spell.

"It was here where I first knew that it was you alone I wanted and that it was my fate never to have that thing that was more precious to me than anything in the world…." She turned and reached for me.

"…Until now," she said, and kissed me. She kissed me deeper than I thought possible. She kissed me until I could taste my own tears on her lips and my head swam in a world that was made only of lips and fingers and the bottomless depths of my lover's eyes.

When we finally released each other we remained there side by side by the river watching the slow current poke its way downstream, our nearness stronger than any spoken words. We stayed that way for a minute or two until Maud spoke.

"We will go to London and meet the lawyer," she said, turning to hold my hands in hers. "We will go, Sue, and seek your fortune."

So that was how it was settled that we would return to London. That afternoon, as we walked back hand in hand to our house (yes, _our_ house), it would have been natural to have thought of my mother, Marianne Lilly, and how her last request would finally be granted, but after Maud had said the word _fortune_ I couldn't help but think back to the time I showed her her fortune with the playing cards. I don't know if I remembered it correctly, but I do believe I had foretold there was great wealth in her future.

That night found us in her parlour, (I keep forgetting; it's _our_ parlour now), having a cup of tea. I had imposed on Mr Inker earlier to gather me some wood, for I fancied watching the flames that night more than I required the warmth of our usual lumps of coal. Maud had brought her writing up from the library and busied herself with her book opposite me, and the only sound above the crackling of the fire was the sound of her pen, scratching like mice in the wainscotting.

I was immediately struck by the change of her routine. She had never before brought what she wrote for Mr Hawtrey out of the confines of the library. Perhaps she used to stay there for my sake, to hide from the disapproving part of me that could not understand that vestige of her former life, or maybe the room itself was more favourable to the type of literature the patrons of the London bookshops liked to read, as if the wood, the carpet, even the very air in that room still carried the collective foulness that Mr Lilly had distilled there over the years, and that Maud was just the wick through which it passed onto the paper. Whatever the reason for her emergence I hoped it was because we had a better understanding of one another. For my part, though I might disapprove of her subject matter I could not reject her chosen vocation; she was a writer, and on her part I hoped that Maud felt that there was nothing she had to keep from me. Our lives, in other words, were each others to keep.

Whatever freedom she was afforded by leaving the library it had a positive effect on her writing that night, for her hand fairly flew over the pages, and she was confident the book would be completed that very night.

"I don't know what it is, Sue, but the words are coming so easily to me tonight," she confided. "Perhaps it is because I no longer have to count out the pennies I might earn for each page. I must confess it is a relief… thanks to you."

"Perhaps," I added mischievously, "It is only because I am sitting before you as your inspiration."

She looked thoughtful and returned to her work. I continued to watch her while I drank my tea and took pleasure in observing the play of the firelight on her features. After a while she became aware of my gaze.

"It is not so bad as you suppose," she remarked pertly, imagining I had been thinking ill of her while she wrote. I felt too contented at that moment to rise to her barb and just shook my head and smiled, but after that she grew discomfited by my constant regard and would occasionally blush at her page for no reason at all and flick quick glances in my direction. Eventually she put it away and picked up her tea.

"I shall write our application to the lawyers tomorrow," Maud said over the rim of her teacup. "Hopefully we will get a response soon."

I put my cup down and dabbed at my lips with my napkin. "Maud, there's something I don't understand. Why London lawyers and not the other one in Maidenhead? I forgot his name."

"You mean Mr Dunn," she explained.

"Yes, that's him. He was a nice man from what I remember of him. Why not just go to him again?"

"Oh I am, Sue. I-," she blushed. "I mean _we _will write him and have him find the lawyers in London."

"But why _London_ lawyers?" I persisted. She looked uncomfortably at me and shifted on her chair before replying.

"Well, you see, Sue, in order to collect our inheritance a search must be made of something called the Probate Registry, which is in London. This will ascertain whether anyone else has laid a claim to our money, and to clear the way for the lawyers to appoint an executor for your mother's will."

I must have been staring at her with my mouth open because she laughed at me. "No, I am not that wise, I simply looked it up this afternoon. At least a few of Mr Lilly's books are good for something."

I smiled, but still pondered over what she had told me. "Then are you telling me that we must go to this Registry ourselves? Then why do we need a lawyer in the first place?"

Maud sipped at her cup and I saw her eyes look to the fire; everywhere but at me.

I raised my eyebrows at her. "Maud?"

She gave a resigned sigh and I heard the clink of her cup as it struck the saucer. "The truth is, Sue, that the Probate search has already been done by some London lawyers and all the arrangements have been made for you to collect your money."

Lord, she'd done it again to me! Behind my back. My thoughts must have been written on my face, 'cause she blanched. "You did this?" I hissed.

"No indeed!" she proclaimed quickly but blushed like anything and her hands fretted. "Oh, I should have told you from the start. It was Mrs Sucksby."

"Mrs Sucksby!", I exclaimed, and my eyes almost popped out of my head.

She nodded timidly. "You see Sue, she made all the arrangements for you to collect your money, when I was taken to London, though she did not live to follow through with it, and I believe the lawyers are waiting there still. We just have to find them."

The fire felt cold and the tea suddenly tasted sour on my tongue. To think that even then, more than a month after she died, Mrs Sucksby's plan could still reach out from the grave and touch me.

I shuddered and I could barely force myself to ask. "But I was… I was in the madhouse. How could she collect it?"

I had to look away but felt Maud's hand grip my own and her voice, when she spoke, carried with it a such a note of sympathy that my hand gripped hers back like it was a lifeline. "Because I was to go in your place, Sue," she said, "and Mrs Sucksby would have told them I was you. I'm sorry."

My stomach knotted. I looked at the carpet to hide my face and felt Maud's hands on my shoulders and her whispered breath in my ear. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier."

I shook my head and turning, took her hands in mine and gave a great sniff. "It's not that, Maud. I don't blame you. I might have guessed it would be like that. Funny, but getting the money from Mrs Sucksby'slawyers makes me feel, after all this time, like I'm still carrying out her plan. I fear you were right all along; that money _is_ a terrible thing. It makes me feel ashamed all over again."

I bowed my head but she raised it up and kissed me on the cheek and smiled. "Hush now; it's you who were right. This was never Mrs Sucksby's plan, or Rivers'; you made me see that. From now on this will be _our_ plan, that we will do together. Think of it as what Marianne would have wanted for you."

For a while there I had been feeling so low I might have given the whole idea up; but when I heard her speak the words, _our plan_ they went straight to my heart and I felt lighter than at any time I could remember. I touched her arm affectionately. "She wanted it for you as well, Maud."

"Then it is settled," said Maud, relieved. "We will go to London."

"Well, I hope this time we can at least go together." I said ruefully, 'cause I wasn't about to let her off that easy.

"Together? Quite the contrary," she interjected with mock seriousness, for she had caught the change in my mood and would tease me back.

She stood and drew herself up menacingly. "I just said all that simply to ease your mind. No, this whole thing was carefully orchestrated by me to lure you to London so you would fall prey to my selfish and very vile plan."

I laughed at her pretend wickedness and batted my eyes innocently at her. "Oh Maud, what will you do to me?"

She bent over me and, putting her hands on my shoulders, made a dramatic show of checking that we were alone, and then lowered her voice to a malicious growl. "My plan was to make you take me to London, and once we have our money I would-"

"Throw me in the Thames!" I shouted out gleefully.

She snorted. "Much worse. I'll force you take me to all those places a pair of Ladies might go for fashions and entertainment, like hmm, let's see…"

"Music halls!" I exclaimed and wriggled my legs like a child.

"Oh yes…the music halls," her eyes sparkled appreciatively at me. "I see you're trembling already. What else could I make you suffer through, I wonder …"

"We could stroll the gardens of St James's or Regent's Park!" I added brightly, then pouted. "Oh, if only it was earlier, Maud, we could see them at their best."

"Well," she grinned. "They seem all very bad places for a woman of good virtue."

"My virtue?" I scoffed, for our gaiety had made me giddy, like I was drunk. "What little I had I've lost to you already."

Maud blushed but recovered in an instant. "We could hire a carriage!" she enthused, and collapsed into my arms. "Oh Sue, it makes me dizzy to imagine what could be!"

Our excitement stayed with us through the night so that we rose early the next day with the promise that we would get started on a letter to the lawyer as early as possible. We wouldn't even have to venture downstairs, for in the parlour where we ate our breakfast was a small ladies writing desk of lacquered wood that would do quite well for that purpose. Maud had hardly ever sat at it in the days while Mr Lilly still lived 'cause back then there was really no one for her to write to. We didn't sit down to it right away, rather despite our eagerness to start we first dressed and had our breakfast, all the time conscious of the tantalising nearness of the desk that whet our appetites for the coming task at hand.

Maud was so determined that I was to be included in all our domestic affairs that she had me pull up an extra chair so that I may sit beside her and help her compose our letter, but for all my wish to be an active participant in the matter I had no idea that the minutia of legal correspondence could be such an utter bore. I sat beside Maud while she patiently explained what she was asking of Mr Dunn, and what the words meant, but my eyes kept drifting to the window through which I caught the morning light winking from the dew-laden lawn in a bold invitation to be outdoors before the day grew too warm.

"… you thinking of?" Maud's voice cut into my thoughts.

I coloured. "What? Sorry, I started thinking of the weather. Perhaps if you were writing for Mr Hawtrey the words would hold my interest more."

She laughed and her laughter seemed to bring the winking dew-light into the room. I stared at her, for I thought I detected something new about her that day, though maybe it was just in her choice of dress. She had insisted on a pink muslin one that morning, rather than the silk dresses she usually wore, and perhaps it was this alone that caught my eye. The fabric was softer than the stiff taffeta, and quieter, without the restless scrooping sound, and with just the petticoat beneath it fell straight down in folds from her slender hips. Some might say it made her look plain, but to me it brought to mind a delicate sea-creature that once having outgrown its shell, must leave it behind and is in the meantime left soft and vulnerable.

She caught my eye and I saw an answering light in hers. She then bit her lower lip impishly before she pulled a new sheet of paper from under the letter and laid it between us and placed my hand carefully on the blank and pristine surface. I frowned when she placed her pen in my hand, but she ignored me and gently held the pen as well, so that our shoulders rubbed and our hands were cupped together like an oysterman's discarded shells.

She chuckled at my grave face. "Now, I think your words would be more interesting, Sue. Tell me something for us to write; not for lawyers, or Mr Hawtrey; something … just for me."

The way she said it I knew there was a change about her that day, but on second thought, perhaps it was not about her at all, or about me, but _between _us; a sense that whatever bound me to her, it was no longer so fragile that we must tread carefully, and no memory too painful to make us reserved with one another. She leaned to bring her cheek alongside mine so that I might whisper something to her and I felt the warmth of her hand on mine moving slightly in tune with the pressure of her shoulder. I turned my face to her so my lips were tickled by the fine hairs near her ear, and I saw the windows' light cast edgewise through her eyes making them seem lighter than normal. What should I say, I wondered, to capture this change in her; this new lightness that emanated from her? I whispered the first thing to come into my head and watched her eye first widen and then flutter before she bent her head over the page.

"Here is the first one," she breathed softly. Her hand began to move on mine and I tried as best I could to match her movements and watched as the ink traced the path of the dance of our hands. Lord, you'd not have thought a simple letter could have so many twists and turns, but even I could tell it was formed like the beginning letters in a fancy bible that were big and hung about with curlicues.

"_I_," I said quite unnecessarily, but in the charged atmosphere I could not help myself.

The other letters came faster, mostly on account of they were not as fancy, but I'd like to think I was learning the movement of her hand.

"_Love you_," I whispered hoarsely.

She grew still and I swear even the birds outside grew hushed. She let the pen fall from my fingers and then her hand gently guided mine to one side so that she could lift the page with it's one paltry sentence and blow gently on it before laying it inside the desk, so gently, you'd suppose it was a precious thing.

"Oh Sue," she muttered and suddenly drew me to her. I gasped as her lips met mine and had only a moment to notice her face was salty with tears before I felt her hands moving quickly and urgently over the fastening of our garments, and such was our passion that when we retreated to her room we left behind a trail of our dresses and under-things like wreckage on a shore.

It wasn't like before, when we gave ourselves to each other tenderly, in the discovery of each other, but rather Maud now took me into her, entirely, with a wanton fierceness and a demanding passion; and as much as each of us demanded from the other we gave all of ourselves in equal measure until we lay quiet once more, clinging like wet leaves. While Maud lay across me, tracing the outline of my breast with her hand, and I made ringlets in her hair with my damp fingers, I thought languidly; _if I had to mark a day, let this be the first day of our life together_.

"I'm so happy you came back to Briar," Maud said, nuzzling me further.

I snorted. "You keep saying that. Besides, I didn't come back to Briar, I came back to you."

She craned her neck to look at me and her hand felt warm on my belly. She said, "You've grown softer since, and more beautiful."

"You've been fattening me up," I laughed. "No wonder there's no money; I've eaten us out of house and home."

"I like you softer," she whispered back and kissed me while her fingers sought the still-unsated, willing part of me that rose up to engulf her once more.

I woke to the delicious warmth of a sunbeam playing across my back. However when I looked toward the window and saw how advanced the day was I saw the sun was too high to come in the window and knew that it was Maud's arm, thrown casually around me while I slumbered, that felt so warm against me. I blinked and felt her shoulder move beneath my head and her fingers combed back the tendrils of my hair that had fallen across my face to pool on her chest.

"You're awake," she said.

"I must have fallen asleep," I gave a long sigh. "I can't remember a time when I've been more contented."

At the sound from the room beyond I stirred beneath Maud's protective arm, and my movement caused the bed to groan and squeak.

"It is just Mrs Inker, come for the breakfast tray," she said.

I listened to the vague sounds from beyond the door and heard the rustling sound of fabric and the dull sound of Mrs Inker's footsteps growing louder and nearer.

"Did you lock the door?" I whispered and craned my neck to look at her.

Maud looked askance. "I don't remember. No, I'm sure I did not."

Then we both heard Mrs Inker's thin querulous voice from the other side of the door. "Miss Lilly, Miss Smith, have you retired back to bed? Is everything alright with you; You're not feeling ill I trust?"

Christ, I thought, what would Mrs Inker make of our clothes strewn about the parlour floor well after breakfast. What if she were to come in? I rolled off of Maud and to my horror the bed made a noise exactly like Maud and I were frolicking away at that very moment.

Maud snickered at my expression. "Goodness Sue, surely you're not afraid of dear Mrs Inker?"

"If she should find us!" I hissed at her. "Tell her to go away."

"Calm yourself. It's not like we haven't shared this bed before?" she reasoned.

"Yes, but she only thought us sleeping then," I quailed and pulled the covers up tight to my neck. "What must she be thinking at this time of day?"

She leered at me. "Shall we ask her?"

I gasped and in panic pulled the sheet over my head before I heard Maud's voice call out. "We are quite well, Mrs Inker."

Maud slapped at my hand as I tried to pinch her from beneath the covers, then to my dismay I heard the handle of the door rattle and then the sound of Mrs Inker's footsteps in the room.

"I'm sorry," I heard Mrs Inker say. "I didn't quite hear what you said… Oh, Miss Smith is not with you, Miss Lilly?"

I pressed myself to the mattress and held my breath, but then to my utter mortification I felt Maud patting my head from on top of the covers.

"On the contrary, Susan is right here, Mrs Inker," Maud said.

I could have cursed her, but there was nothing for it but to come out. I slowly lowered the sheet from my head like the naughtiest of children and hoped it was only the close air beneath the sheet that made my face feel so hot rather than from the embarrassment I felt. Actually, any embarrassment was more on account of poor Mrs Inker. She was one of those kindly souls who, despite their long years, seem to be protected from aging by their good natures, and I thought it would be a terrible shame if she was made to feel forever awkward with us. Mrs Inker, to her credit, seemed oblivious to my predicament and simply deposited a vast armful of dresses, stays and petticoats onto an armchair. I tried to maintain as much dignity as I could, but it is hard to maintain control over one's features when one is lying naked in front of the housekeeper and your best friend is shaking the bed with her giggling.

I cleared my throat. "We are quite well, thank-you, Mrs Inker. And you may call me Miss Susan from now on."

Mrs Inker acknowledged it with a bob of her head and smiled warmly at the two of us.

"I praise the day you came back, Miss Susan. You've brought some sunshine with you, you have." she declared wistfully before she frowned at the pile of rumpled clothes. "But I must admit that when you were Miss Smith you took much better care of Miss Lilly's things."

With that she left us alone without batting an eye, but it set me wondering what dear Mrs Inker really did think of me and Maud. Was she simply too polite to notice, in that winking ignorance beloved of servants in every household, or did she truly not think there was anything unusual going on between us? Come to think of it, I had been pretty much alone with Maud for so many days that I began to wonder myself what was normal between girls like us. It was a thought that would come back to me off and on for the rest of the day. In the meantime I proceeded to get even with Maud for embarrassing me by giving her a good thumping with the pillows.

The sun had not reached its zenith before Maud declared that she had finished the book for Mr Hawtrey, and she spoke the words with a tone of such finality that I needn't hear the words to know she would not write him another. So, for the first time she made herself available to me for the duration of the day, and I was hard pressed to think of something novel for us to do, something different to amuse her and mark the day as particularly special. The opportunity presented itself, though, when I heard Maud ask Mr Inker to hitch the horse and take both her book and our letter to Marlow to be sent in the mail, and it was while she was waiting for the dog-cart to be brought round to the front of the house that I suggested that we should all go to Marlow together. Maud appeared reticent at first and looked at me dubiously.

"The cart is not at all comfortable, Sue, and there is really not much to see in Marlow," she explained.

"Not much is still something," I said enthusiastically. "And a trip with you, no matter how small, would still be a diversion. Besides, Maud, I would like to see something of the country around _my_ house."

We heard the crunch of wheels on the gravel outside and Maud made an elaborate curtsey in front of me and smiled demurely. "I keep forgetting that you are a lady now and that I'm in no position to refuse you. I shall tell Mr Inker to wait for us."

Delighted, I took her proffered arm and while I walked her out to the gravel drive I whispered to her saucily. "I'm no lady, and it's because of that you can't resist me!"

While Mr Inker waited, I made Maud change her dress for something suitable for travelling. I picked out a cream-coloured muslin dress with a wide neckline to keep her cool, and for beneath it I found in her clothes press a pretty white chemise that had lace at the top that would show above the bodice of her dress and match the vivid white belt at her waist. To keep Mr Inker from waiting too long, I threw on the tough old blue wool dress I wore when I came from London, for I didn't want any of Maud's nice things ruined while riding the dog-cart.

Soon we were bumping along the lane in the back of the cramped little cart behind the impassive back of Mr Inker. It was hot again but the overhanging trees that bordered the cultivated fields on either side of us afforded us some shade. Between the trees, the light off the dried stalks in the fields hurt our eyes. We spoke little, for Maud was right and it was a rough sort of cart, and when it passed over the ruts in the road it made speaking to one another sound more like a bad case of hiccups, and it was all we could do to not lose our hats so violently did it sway on occasion. When we finally passed from the lane, and reached the thoroughfare proper, the road was smoother but so dry we threw up clouds of yellow dust as we passed. Once we passed a couple pushing a wheelbarrow full of some root-crop. They had moved toward the ditch at our passing and I watched Mr Inker give them a nod. There was a girl with them who I judged to be only about ten or twelve who wore nothing more than a simple shift of some coarse material, maybe even sacking. She drew my eye because at the sight of Maud she pointed excitedly at us and said something to the others. I looked at Maud as well, but she was looking forward gravely and had not noticed.

The fields and copses gave way to more cottages, cow byres and dairies as we neared Marlow. The horse was an old one, and slow. We passed more and more people, country folk mostly, and the same scene played itself out over and over; Mr Inker nodding or tipping his hat to an acquaintance; the men and woman and children staring through the dust at my beautiful Maud. Well, that's what it felt like to me at the time. I looked at Maud every time they did with something like pride welling up in my chest. I'm certain that if I were in their shoes I would have stared as well; she stood out so like a shiny coin on the pavement. She pretended not to notice the attention, but I caught her every now and then purposely look the other way when we passed local folk on the road. Perhaps, I wondered, she was affected by the heat, or the light had given her a headache, to make her so indifferent, but before I could ask her we had arrived at the village proper.

"Is this it?" I asked.

She raised an eyebrow at me. "Don't you recognise it?"

"I must have come a different way. Where is the station?"

She pointed to our left. "It is in the lower part of town that is called Great Marlow. We are in the upper part of Marlow where they hold the market every week."

She indicated a large grassy area to our right that lay by the road and was backed by a wooded area behind it. In it I could see a bunch of people, both men and woman and some children too, milling about around a flat rocky outcrop that formed a natural stage of sorts.

"Today?" I asked.

She peered at the people. "No, not today. It looks much different on market-day. Mrs Inker told me it is very gay affair; the whole field is covered over with stalls selling all sorts of goods and foods."

I imagined something like a fair with apple-cheeked farmers' daughters leading hogs on leashes and someone playing a tin flute or a mandolin in the background. A good place for a sharp fingersmith, I thought. "Sounds grand, but do you mean to say you have never even seen it, after all these years?"

Maud gave me an apologetic shrug. "Actually, Sue, I have never been; Mr Lilly never allowed me to go before and now Mr Inker goes to the market for us… I guess old habits are hard to break."

Her words made me shake my head in wonder in light of the things she had once been willing to do to get away from her 'old habits'. I turned my gaze once more back to the village. On our left loomed an old black-beamed inn. As we drew abreast I could see you entered it from a small courtyard, which was formed by the surrounding livery stables, which in turn was separated from the road by a wall with an arched entranceway big enough for a carriage to be driven through. On the inn itself hung a colourful sign above a large heavy door that stood ajar invitingly and from it the friendly murmur of voices hung in the air. More people were arriving by foot as I watched and my throat reminded me that I had not tasted any beer at Briar since I had come back.

"Is it nice inside?" I asked.

She gave me a small embarrassed smile. "I have never been inside and-."

"Don't tell me," I rolled my eyes and saw she blushed, abashed. "Mr Lilly wouldn't allow you? Honestly!"

Some retort rose to her lips but I forestalled her by asking hopefully. "Just the same, do you fancy going? If you're in a hurry we could mail our parcels first, then come back."

Maud looked thoughtfully at the Inn as we passed by the door, and she looked about to acquiesce when we both spotted a local woman gazing at us from just inside the archway. The woman inclined her head to the man she was with and mouthed something that made the man snicker.

Maud's face was a mask. "Perhaps another time, Sue."

I knit my brow and tried to catch her eye but she had turned away to watch the inn fall behind us with something like regret on her face. I wondered if maybe she had been told it was a bad sort of place, where ladies never went, or perhaps she couldn't bring herself to tell me that we were too short of coin that day, but before I could come up with any other motives she suddenly bid Mr Inker to stop.

"Mr Inker! Please stop here! Sue and I will get down," she called and started up before the cart had barely come to a halt.

I had to get down first and then had to lend Maud an arm to help her, for the cart was so cramped that one of her legs had gone all numb from sitting, and then I had to wait while she made sure Mr Inker knew where the letters and package were to be sent. The whole time she barely glanced at me so that I found myself waiting for her behind the cart while she bid Mr Inker goodbye.

"We are going to the inn. After you visit the post office you will find us either here or on the street, looking at the shops," I overheard her say.

Mr Inker bobbed his head, then turned to bid me farewell as well and Maud came by my side to watch the cart move slowly off. Without so much as a word she turned toward the inn and had gone but a couple of steps when she became aware that I did not follow her, but that I stood rooted on the pavement. She met my gaze and sighed before she returned to me.

"Sue, I'm sorry I have been out of sorts today. I know you are trying to make me happy."

I gave a snort. "Whatever in the world is there to be unhappy about? If we're short of funds, then no matter; let's just walk and see what we might purchase once we have our money."

I held out my arm as if I might take her in another direction but she shook her head.

"It is not that, Sue," she said simply.

I frowned in confusion and hazarded a guess. "What then? Surely you're not unsettled by all the attention you're getting? These country folk only look at you because they are not used to seeing such a fine lady amongst them every day."

Her eyes grew cold and her voice had an edge to it. "Is that what you think they see?"

_They see the same beautiful girl that I see, don't they_, I was about to say, and I opened my mouth to speak but stopped. What entered my mind then was the image of myself as I had been the last time I had passed through Marlow, when I was looking for Maud. There had been a man and a young girl with a cart who had offered me a ride to Briar. They were strangers to me. I hardly remembered them on account I had been left half-dead from the journey, but I did recall how my heart sank when they said that I would not find Maud at Briar, and they told me it was because they had heard she had run away on her uncle with a man; scandalous, was the word they used for it. If they gossiped about it, then…..

"You have heard it too, haven't you?" Maud asked ruefully, and I could not help but blush.

"But it's just talk! It ain't true!" I blurted out, but I thought of the people who had pointed her out that day and what they might have been saying. _Is that the one?_

"Of course it is true." She said bitterly. "You of all people know it is… I'm the talk of the town. I even overheard the Inker's talking of it once."

Poor Maud. In those days I used to wonder just why I had found Maud still at Briar, after what she had been willing to do to escape from it. At first I humoured myself that she had been waiting for me; that somehow she knew I'd return to her. But that afternoon in Marlow I knew the truth of it; that as much as she had learned to hate the very stones Briar was built from, she had also come to depend on it as the only world that she knew; the only place she felt safe in, and it was up to me to be her guide to the larger world and to reacquaint her with the society to which she belonged but had never met. So I guess in a way she really had been waiting there for me. Me, who only knew a small and dirty part of the world.

On an impulse I suddenly hooked my arm through hers and pulled her along with me. "Come, we're walking."

She stumbled a bit but found her feet. I marched back to the inn and in the edge of my vision I caught her looking at my stern face strangely but did not return her glance. We passed under the arch in the wall and entered the courtyard and I remembered the place smelled of horse-dung and oiled-leather. Without pause we passed into the inn and, once inside, I had to stop a bit to let my eyes adjust to the dim interior. It was a typical place, low-ceilinged and large for the common folk to gather. I saw Maud blink and put her hand briefly to her nose under the combined assault of beer, smoke and sweat. It was far more crowded than I thought decent, given the time of day. Upstairs I knew there would be private rooms for the privileged, and rooms for overnight, but I wanted the more public space. I found what I wanted in the far corner from where we stood and I manoeuvred Maud across the room to a table nearby. She didn't speak but I divined her mood by the way she clung to my side like a duckling and when we sat she gripped the table as if she might sink without it.

I had been afraid our entrance might have been overly noticed, and that a great hush descend to make Maud bolt; but the place was so crowded and full of noisy talk that we had passed through quite unnoticed. Some men at the adjacent tables paused to stare but seeing that I ignored them and Maud only would look at her hands they soon grew bored and returned to their talk.

"Maud," I said. "Look over there."

Maud looked up and followed my gaze to the corner table around which three young women were gathered. They were making merry over cups of beer, though it may have been something stronger; you couldn't tell from where we sat. What I could see in the dimness of the tavern was the colour of their cheeks which could only be from rouge and, judging by their uniformly full mouths, on their lips as well. Their dresses were not of a bold colour, like I might see in London, but I thought I could see a bit of ankle from under their table. I was surprised a bit actually, to see girls of that sort in a little place like Marlow, but for all I knew they kept their business confined to the tavern itself and once outside looked as respectable as nuns. It was only a matter of time before they caught me looking and after a minute one nudged another so that soon after all three looked appraisingly at us, but especially at Maud.

Maud coloured and looked back at me and whispered. "Are they…?"

"What else," I said, though I admit I could have been wrong. Who knows what mischief these country-girls got up to when they went out on the town? Perhaps they were just dairy maids tired of looking at the cows' backsides and content to catch the eye of any man without shit on his shoes. Whatever their profession they would serve my purpose. I bent my head nearer to her.

"What do you think, Maud," I asked her. "Are they wondering whether we will take their business away from them?"

Maud covered her smile with her hand. "Oh, I dearly hope not!"

"Then again, do you think they really give a rat's arse about the reputation of one rich-looking girl who may have gone against her uncle's wishes to get married?" I asked her again.

Maud frowned at my coarseness and the girls at the other table laughed at seeing her made uncomfortable. One of them raised a glass to Maud in a mock toast.

I answered my own question for her. "They don't care, Maud. They're poor, and they can't afford to worry about their virtue, or the virtue of any other girl."

Maud's face grew stony and she turned away and prepared to rise. "I don't see that this has anything to do with me, and I don't care to -."

I put my hand on her arm to stay her and spoke more gently. "You're right Maud; it has nothing to do with you. What they see is not the same as what I see when I look at you. They see only what they wish they had; your fine clothes, your smooth skin and soft hands. Common folk will always talk about a lady. You just have to ignore it."

"How can you know what they want, or what they're thinking?" Maud asked, but the fire had gone from her eyes and she settled back down beside me.

I placed my hand on hers. "Because that's me over there, like I was before I met you; and if I was out on Borough Road in those days, and saw a girl like you, I might stare too if only to remember the cut of your dress so that I might try to alter my own to match when I got home, or the style of your hair, that I might try and make myself a pale imitation of a lady; and if someone had asked me if I thought it wicked for you to marry without your uncle's consent, I would've told him that it would never occur to me, 'cause I don't know what it is to even have an uncle who cares, and if I bore you any malice at all, it would only be because I imagined you had the luxury to worry about such things."

I took a big breath because I had said it all at once without pausing. Maud stared while she contemplated my little speech and then searched my face as if she saw something new that she had not noticed before.

"Is that really what you would have thought of me?" she asked.

I would have rolled my eyes again at her, 'cause it never ceased to amaze me how innocent she was for all her bookishness, but figured that might upset her, so instead I smiled.

"Me?" I said. "I was speaking of common ladies I might have seen. I think I fell in love with you the moment I met you."

She regarded me sceptically, unsure whether I was simply teasing her, then a cloud passed over her features as she seemed to remember something and looked back at our hands which were still together on the table.

"Sometimes I think you are too good to me," she said, then bit at her lip. "I forget how much I depend on you. It reminds me of something that happened in London. I never told you much about what happened to me in London, did I?"

I gave her hand a squeeze. "You don't have to tell me a thing, Maud."

She shook her head. "No, I want to, Sue. I'll never forget how angry you were when you found me there, and saw I had taken your place at Mrs Sucksby's side. Did you know that I tried to escape from that place?"

She looked at me hopefully, for I knew it was important to her that I remembered she was not altogether a willing participant in Mrs Sucksby's plan. I had heard about her escape, of course, back in my dark days. I recalled the time the Lant Street shop was empty, and there was blood on the floor that would not come off, and all that remained of Mrs Sucksby was her empty taffeta gown.

"Dainty told me you had run away, but then came back," I said quietly.

"Yes, I ran away with the idea of saving us both," she said meekly. "I was a fool. No one cared Sue. No one would help me. I found Mr Hawtrey but even he said that I had no choice but to go back to my husband."

I felt her shudder and would have put my arms around her but for the crowd around us. Maud continued to address our conjoined hands.

"The worst of it was that I found out I was so unacquainted with life that I was not fit to survive a single night on my own."

I gave her hand another squeeze. "You're not alone any more."

She turned her face to me at last but still seemed to look into the distance. "When you found me at Briar I tried to fool myself into thinking it was I who was helping you to recover, but every day I am reminded that it is really you who restores me to health, a little at a time."

She finally focused her eyes on mine and wore a sour grin. "Sue, I'm afraid you must find my company wearisome sometimes."

I put my face close to hers, and smiled. "We depend on each other, luv, and always will."

There was a shuffling by my elbow and I straightened up to find a young, blondish serving girl at my elbow. She wore a shapeless dress in a faded calico print with a stained apron tied over it and her hair fell in a thick plait down her back. Her face was flushed and she wiped her glistening forehead with her sleeve.

"Sorry, I didn't see you come. You'd be wanting a drink then?" she asked distractedly, and cast her eyes around the crowded room.

"S'right," I assured her. "We've not been here long. What would you care for, Maud?"

I turned towards Maud, who was partially hidden from the girl's view beside me, and when the girl saw her she gave a start and made the wobbly kind of curtsey just like the one I had attempted on my first day at Briar.

"Sorry, Ma'am! I didn't see you Ma'am," she quailed.

"It is quite alright," Maud assured her. "It is quite crowded here."

"Lord, you don't know the half of it!" she blurted out then coloured. "Sorry, Ma'am."

I saw Maud eye the girl somewhat critically, perhaps on account of her age, for she could not be more than nine or ten years. "Do you usually work in the tavern?"

"Lord no!" the girl exclaimed with a tinge of regret thrown in. "Me mum would not allow it! It's only on account of the meeting that me mum asked me to help out this once. Are you here for the meeting too?"

Maud cast me a look as if I had a notion of what the girl was talking about. "Meeting? We have not heard of it. What is it for?"

"You've not heard?" she frowned. "Why, everyone is here for it! It's on account of the fair-ground."

"The fair-ground?" Maud said blankly.

"You know, where the market is," she said with a look that said _are you as simple as all that? _Then she told us. "They're meeting to protest the enclosure of the field. It's been ours by right for a hundred years but it's going to be sold off to pay the taxes for some rich feller who's been made beggarly,… or so my dad keeps tellin' me."

"Kate!" called a woman's powerful voice. "Kate! What are you doing filling these folk with all that gibberish!"

The girl looked skyward and muttered under her breath. "Oh Jeez."

Thrusting her way between the tables came an older woman I judged to be maybe the owner's wife. She was a stocky woman dressed similarly to the girl, in a plain frock covered over with an apron that bore the marks of a hard day's work in the kitchen. A simple scarf covered her hair but parts of it had come loose and the brown strands waved like tiny menacing arms as she moved.

She pulled up beside the girl, Kate, and rebuked the girl. "The lady don't want to hear you spout all that nonsense!"

At the word _lady_, Kate looked once more at Maud and threw her hands to her mouth and beseeched her. "Oh Lord, I didn't mean nothin' when I said rich fellers, honestly Ma'am!"

"Go to, girl!" the woman tried to shoo the girl away from us and then turned apologetically. "Sorry Ma'am; I wouldn't have let my daughter in here if I'd a notion she'd go about vexing people."

I saw Kate look down sulkily while Maud appealed to her mother. "I assure you, your daughter has given us no offence."

"Indeed," I added impishly. "Maud here can only be flattered by the comparison to a rich man."

"As you can only be flattered by the comparison to a lady," Maud retorted with a twinkle in her eye.

Kate's mother appeared perplexed at our good-natured banter, and heaved a sigh as if to change the subject. "Bless me, my manners! Kate, instead of talking their ears off you should have put the lady in a room, 'stead of making her rub elbows with this coarse lot."

Her arm encompassed the rest of the room, but I somehow got the impression she included me as well. Coarse lot indeed! I wondered if this woman mightn't have mistaken me for a lady if I had worn something finer than the horrible blue thing I had on. I felt Maud's hand on mine.

"Honestly, I'd prefer to remain here. I like it here," she said and I felt her hand squeeze mine.

The woman took that as a compliment and then noticed that her daughter was still with us. "Well girl, go on and gets them what they wanted!"

Kate looked piteously to me for support. "But I don't even know what they want!"

"Maud and I hadn't decided yet," I said to forestall her mother's rebuke. "I'll have a glass of your beer, and … Maud, will you have wine?"

Maud looked thoughtfully at me for a second, and then smiled deliciously. "I am determined, Sue, now more than ever, to follow your example, so I will have beer as well."

The girl hurried off under the scolding eye of her mother who then winced when all a sudden loud laughter from a nearby table crashed over us in a wave of sound. She scowled at them.

"It's not usually so loud at this time of day," she sighed. "It's only because of the meeting."

"So your daughter told us," agreed Maud. "Are you really in danger of losing the market-place?"

The woman shrugged. "That's what they say, and I can't think what we'll do without it. Though, I'm of the opinion that this rabble-rousing is just an excuse for men to go about drinking and speech-making, and to make a flipping nuisance of themselves at the expense of their betters. It'll only end them up trouble, you know. Anyone knows it only takes a few shillings to turn folks to informing on one another to the Constable."

As she said the last part she hesitated and wrung her hands before she continued in a lower voice. "Beggin' your pardon Ma'am, but you won't call out the Constabulary on us will you? It'll be just like my Robert to land himself in prison over a lark like this."

Maud touched the woman's arm to calm her. "I trust no one will do anything to warrant such action, but in fact I do not know who owns the field. It certainly is not me."

"Of course not! Bless you, Ma'am, then you're not from these parts?" she exclaimed, and then, more cautiously (with an eye, I'm certain, towards selling us a room) she added. "Will you be staying the night in Marlow?"

It was at this point that I detected that Maud hesitated, so I spoke up in her stead. "We live close by, in the house called Briar."

It was my turn to squeeze Maud's hand. I held my breath lest the woman betray amazement or mirth or anything to bring shame upon my Maud, but I was sure deference would triumph over any spite there may have been on account of the rumours spread about Maud's sham marriage; and I was rewarded when I saw that there was only a flicker of recognition in the woman's eyes before she smiled and look pleased.

"From Briar you say! We don't get many folk from Briar anymore, let alone a Lady! You and your mistress must come oftener. Here is Kate with your refreshments. Do try the beer; try it, and tell me if that's not the best beer you have ever tasted."

She said the last part to Maud, and both she and her daughter waited expectantly. Indeed the cacophony of voices around us grew noticeably quieter and a few of the men at the nearby tables who had been listening to our conversation had turned as if eager hear the verdict of the local gentry regarding the quality of their fare. Maud looked timid under the scrutiny of so many strangers while she took a sip, and I smiled to myself when I saw that she could barely hide her grimace afterward.

"It is very fine," she said graciously.

Kate and her mum sighed. There were grunts of approval from the eavesdroppers, and I experienced a small pleasure myself on Maud's behalf as I watched her blush a bit, unaccustomed to having such stock placed on her opinion, but pleased nonetheless. Kate's mother nodded to the tables around us as if her brew had just been endorsed by the Queen herself.

"You enjoy it then, on the house," she said to Maud, loud enough to advertise her generosity to the neighbouring patrons who craned their neck to see what all the fuss was about, and then she stopped Maud when tried to pay for it anyway. "Go on with you! I won't hear of it. I won't have it said that the Wheat Sheaf ain't the most hospitable inn in the county."

"You see, Maud," I said when she had left us alone at last. "You are respected as a lady wherever you go."

Maud did not respond but hid her smile as I watched her take another, larger sip of her drink, before she sat back and, for the first time that afternoon, assumed a posture quite as ease (as much as she was able, she loved her stays so tight). Once we had finished our beer, her more out of duty than desire, we left the Wheat Sheaf to explore more of Marlow. Maud was in a merry mood, and I'd like to think it was because of what I said to her in the inn, but I suspect it was simply on account of the beer.

Arm in arm we passed the shops in that part of Marlow; there was a dressmaker's with a display of pretty lace and ribbons, a bootmaker's where Maud stared longingly at the display until I tugged her on, and at the baker's we used the coins we hadn't spent at the Wheat Sheaf to buy some sweet rolls for ourselves and the Inkers. By the time we could find no more shops, and had turned back, we caught the crowd streaming out of the inn toward the field for the meeting. Maud, far from shying away from the crowd anymore, actually urged us to go and see what the speakers had to say, but Mr Inker found us first and would have none of it, insisting that we mount the cart at once and muttered all the way back to Briar that he would brook no mingling with Jacobites and Chartists, and then fairly rebuked me for luring Miss Lilly to _low places_. To make matters worse, Maud ate one of the sweet rolls too fast and developed a loud case of hiccups, the result of which was that for the rest of the way home Mr Inker shot me a disapproving look every time the girl yipped.

Back at Briar, you might have thought the anticipation of Mr Dunn's reply would have filled us with a kind of nervous energy but, on the contrary, we passed the days afterwards in a sort of dilatory idleness, as if the effort of waiting for the mail was in itself a type of exhaustion. Little sounds like that of Mr Inker opening the front door, or a milk-cart on the gravel would be enough to set Maud and me to looking at one another, each of us too proud to admit our thoughts to the other, but both knowing full well what crossed the other's mind. The weather grew cooler and therefore more conducive to being outdoors but we found any excuse to linger inside, and especially near the front of the house. Eventually we managed to invent things to do to pass the time, like dressing up our straw hats with ribbons or doing embroidery on dresses we might take with us to London, though I was never very proficient at it. Luckily, the reply from the lawyer took less time than we had thought; lucky for me, I mean, for I thought I should go mad if it took any longer.

On that day, Maud and I were in our parlour when we heard the sound of boots on the gravel drive. We knew it was not Mr Inker for we had just heard his heavy steps within the house a moment before. We both must have been holding our breath for we listened for every little sound and I saw Maud's eyelid quiver at the insignificant little metallic squeak that filtered up to us that I took to be the noise of the hinge that secured the lid of the letter-box beside the front door. Our eyes met, and we both smiled before we sprang up and raced one another to the window. Yes, it was the letter-carrier, come from Marlow. At the same time we heard steps in the house below us.

Maud looked at me. "Mrs Inker will get the mail I think."

I cocked my head. "No. I think she may well be walking away. Perhaps she didn't hear."

Like children we made a race of it, and the noise of our laughter mixed with the swish of our skirts to almost drown out Mrs Inker, who scolded us for risking our necks on the stairs. I let Maud have the victory, for it wasn't like I could read the letter anyway, and after we came back inside we collapsed together on the bottom steps of the broad stairs, panting breathlessly, with me hanging over her shoulder as she tore the envelope open.

"It is indeed from Mr Dunn," she said excitedly, between breaths.

She read on a bit and then smiled at me. "He says we have been most fortunate on account of his business had summoned him into London the very day he received our inquiry, and he was able to make the investigation himself while he was there."

"And…?" I nodded emphatically to the letter to make her read on, and then watched her face as her eyes darted back and forth across the black scrawls on the page and her lip grew moist where she worried at it with her teeth while she read. She turned, quivering, to me.

"He has found him, Sue; the very man Mrs Sucksby went to!" she exclaimed and read from the paper. "A Mr Butterfield, who has chambers in the Middle Temple. Do you know it, Sue?"

"Course, it's just off the Strand," I replied, and then laughed at her blank expression, for though she probably recognised the name out of books, she didn't know the difference between Whitehall and Wapping.

"Thank heavens I am with you," Maud told me from beneath her lashes. "I don't think I could ever muster the courage to go on my own."

I gave her an affectionate nudge. "We'll be safe enough if we stay clear of the worst parts. I may not know which are the grandest shops on Regent St, but at least I'm pretty well acquainted with the places we should avoid."

Maud laughed with me but at the mention of _grand shops_ she cautioned me. "Even if you did know all the best places, Sue, I think we must be prepared to be moderate with our money because we may not have access to it right away."

"What do you mean? Must we wait some more?" I asked.

"I do not know for certain," she replied. "You see, Marianne's money may be invested entirely in the Funds, or in the East India Company, or some other venture of that sort and it could be days, or weeks even, before the income from it can be made available to us."

I hadn't thought of that. In my former days, a man like Mr Ibbs could turn anything of value into money within minutes, rather than weeks, but obviously I wasn't as familiar with wealth of the normal kind. It wasn't like I imagined the lawyer would simply hand over a monstrous bag of money, but I had hoped a part of our inheritance might possibly be in the form of at least a little bag. Maud must have seen my crestfallen look because it was her turn to give me an affectionate little nudge.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Sue. Perhaps I am being a trifle too cautious; but having to earn my keep for the first time ever has made me wary. Hopefully, when we see this Mr Butterfield he will have prepared for our coming and shall prove me entirely wrong. Mr Dunn says that he has told Mr Butterfield to expect us and that he has already vouchsafed that we are the ones named in the will," she summarised from the letter. "Indeed, it says here that everything has been made ready. Besides, we do have a little bit of money to tide us over."

"How much?" I asked a little too eagerly.

"About twelve shillings, maybe more?" she replied hopefully, and I swallowed hard.

"All of twelve?" I tried to sound confident. I quickly calculated that that would, after deducting the fare for the train, last us barely a few days even if we economised, and that also ruled out any amusements other than the public parks and a crude penny gaff or two. I knew there could always be another time to go back, after we had got our money, but still I must confess I found it a bit of a letdown that I wouldn't be able to show Maud the more attractive and diverting side of London. What really worried me was that if she only knew London as the squalid and frightening place she had been taken to before, she might never want to go back again and the opportunity to enjoy it with her properly might be lost forever. If I was prudent, I would have suggested we wait until we had more money for the trip, but if that meant Maud had to resume her writing for Mr Hawtrey I would have risked the journey with no money at all rather than start her back under Hawtrey's pay. So I decided then and there to take our chances with what we had and spoke with more enthusiasm than I felt.

"Well, there's nothing to worry about then; that will be just enough."

Maud looked relieved. "Do you really think we have enough? Then let's leave for London right away!"

She drew me towards her in a tight embrace and as I looked over her shoulder towards the door of the house I hoped that I had not deceived her.

We decided to leave the very next day. The hard part was breaking the news to the Inkers. Maud did not tell them everything, as we had agreed, but simply said that Mr Lilly's sister had left a considerable sum of money to both of us, without explaining how such a thing was possible. You might have thought they would have been happy for us, and rejoiced with us over our good fortune, if only on account of the prospect of the diminished need for economy around the house, but Mr Inker in particular was dour and tried to dissuade us from going by suggesting that we could possibly accomplish everything by mail without ever leaving Briar. The fact was that they were frightened by our going and who could blame them. The last time Maud went to London the entire household was torn asunder and all the servants had been dismissed, or left service on their own accord until it was just the Inkers remaining. Who knows what they thought might happen to them this time, or whether we would ever return. The only thing that mollified Mrs Inker was when we assured her that we would return soon and hire a boy to help her husband with the heavy work.

Next we had to decide what to take with us. Packing my bag was the easy part, for I did not have much to bring even if I chose to pack every one of my possessions. One thing was certain though, I couldn't bear to wear my old dress again, albeit I packed it just in case; rather, Maud gave me one of her old dresses that I had so admired when I played her maid. It was of jade silk with a matching bodice of the same material and was cut low so that the lace trimmings of my blouse showed at the neckline. It was too short to be fashionable for Maud, but since I was a bit shorter than she was I found it just long enough once I let the hem out. Once that was done there was the problem of what Maud would bring. She had pouted in front of her clothes press for what seemed like an eternity and by evening the bag I had set out for her on the bed still lay empty.

"What will I do?" she moaned despondently. "None of these will do for London."

"Let me help," I suggested, and came to kneel beside her to sort through her clothes. My voice came out muffled by the clothes about my head. "You've read too much about London and have forgotten what you saw of the place when you were there. London society ain't half so grand as the magazines would have you believe."

I took armfuls of her clothes and spread them on the bed and the sofa so that we could see them properly.

"See, there's a lot more here than you thought," I said cheerily. "Anyways, your beauty will make up for any deficiency of style."

That last remark did nothing to bolster her confidence, however, once we sat down together and mixed this skirt with that bodice or this blouse with that belt, we found combinations that I'm sure would rival any of those found on Regent St or Mayfair and by the time we went to bed she was excited once again at the prospect of our journey.

We wanted to be ready to leave early the next day. When we rose I remember the day started out very dull and the darkened sky was covered over by a thin layer of clouds, but thankfully it did not look like rain. By the time we were ready to come downstairs it seemed warm enough that Maud needed no more than the short jacket she was wearing that morning, and I anticipated it would grow much warmer by the afternoon and so made her wear something light beneath. I had helped her pick out a full skirt in a plum taffeta topped by a pleat-fronted white blouse with wide bishop sleeves that were tight at the wrists. The idea was that she could remove the jacket if she grew too warm. The cut of the blouse emphasised the narrowness of her waist and this was further shown to best effect by a wide black belt on the skirt. The lone splash of colour was the wine-coloured ribbon that was tied on the little straw hat perched on her head that brought out the pink of her cheeks.

It was getting light by the time Maud and I were standing together beside our bags on the porch while we waited for the little dog cart to be hitched. I looked up at the clouds and watched as they parted and let the sunrise peek above the horizon, mauve and pink through the trees, but higher up the sky above us was still dark and faint stars winked impudently at the rising sun from between the fleeing clouds. I particularly noticed the dawn that morning because I was struck by the fact I had never been able to enjoy a single sunrise while I grew up in London. We never knew such a simple miracle existed. Leaving Briar I would miss not seeing it and I wondered if I would still be able to stand the thick London air. Maybe the whole city would seem strange to me. It reminded me of something I had meant to ask Maud.

"Maud, have you thought about how to keep our money safe for the trip?"

"Safe?" she raised one brow sardonically. "What little we have. Do you not trust me?"

"Course I trust you, Maud," I responded agreeably. "It's the thieves on the London streets I don't trust. We must keep our wits about us."

She inclined her chin toward our luggage. "Not to worry, Sue, I am safe from them. I have placed it in my bag."

"Lord, girl, your bag! That's the first thing you'll lose to them, trust me," I exclaimed and held out my hand. "You must keep it on your person. Best give it to me."

She looked peeved at me for a second before she gave a little huff and fetched a little velvet purse from the bag beside her. However, rather than hand it over, she dangled the coins before my face and then tucked it into her clothes.

"There, satisfied?" she asked smugly. "It is safe in my jacket."

I raised and eyebrow to her and then walked around her with an appraising air "That pocket betrays that it's there and is too easy to get at."

As I passed behind her I bumped her with my hip for all the world like the rough passengers on the Omnibus and deftly extracted the purse in one swift motion before I came back in front of her and dangled it mockingly before her face.

"I see that old habits die hard," she said dryly as I dropped her purse neatly into the pocket of my dress.

"It must be carried in a pocket in your skirt," I explained. "Even then, that pocket must be minded in crowds. Perhaps I should keep it safe for us."

"You keep it?" she curled her lip playfully and made as if to take it back. "You know too many places in London to spend it; give it back to me."

I skipped away from her. "You? You'll give it all away to the first cabman who overcharges you. Best I keep it safe."

We laughed and dodged about until we heard the wheels of the cart round the corner of the house, and then we both piled into the back of the cart before Mr Inker had a chance to hand us up himself.

That was how it was, in those days, when we set off to get our fortune. In all our innocence we thought that Marianne's legacy amounted to nothing more than an endless supply of food and clothes, and those small amusements that might make us smile together. We were babes. What did I know about money; indeed, what experience did Maud have of it either? We never once thought of the other things that we knew great wealth brought upon others; envy and mistrust. Sometimes I think our love for each other blinded us to the evils of our inheritance, but at other times I feel that our great love itself was at fault, 'cause how else could I have so feared to lose Maud to another if I had not loved her too deeply to begin with? But I am getting ahead of myself again. When I look back to those days in London I think they might be the happiest time of my life.

That morning Mr Inker took us to the train station at Marlow where we would take the Wycombe Railway to Maidenhead, and then switch trains for the Great Western to London. Had we a better carriage or been able to afford a coach, we might have taken that instead straight to Maidenhead and boarded the train to London directly, for the distance to Maidenhead was but five miles or so. We of course had our little cart, but our one horse looked pretty much ready for the knacker yard, despite Mr Inker's objections to the contrary, and it was all that animal could do to make it as far as Marlow. Only decorum, and the weight of our luggage, prevented us from going on foot.

Mr Inker carried our few bags to the platform of the Marlow Rd station and insisted on waiting with us out of fear for our safety.

"It's not safe for ladies to be travelling alone; let alone a great place like London," he said yet again to us while he stared stoically over the tracks. I smiled to myself 'cause I supposed his knowledge of London, like most of Marlow, was made up entirely of sensational rumours, so that when he said _great_ he really meant _terrible_.

"Praps I might go with you all the way to Paddington Station," he suggested yet again. "I could leave the cart with the livery. It would ease Mrs Inker's mind to think that I-."

"Thank-you for the suggestion, Mr Inker," interjected Maud. "We shall be perfectly safe together, Sue and I. Besides, Sue has travelled this same route herself completely unescorted and came to no harm at all."

I rolled my eyes 'cause I heard him make a disapproving sound in his throat, leaving no doubt as to his opinion of women who travelled alone. I don't think he ever forgave me for taking Maud to the public house in Marlow, and I harboured a suspicion that he thought it was unescorted London girls like me that made the trains particularly unsafe. I felt a sympathetic squeeze on my arm at the spot where Maud held me, but she couldn't speak her mind until the train pulled beside the platform and Mr Inker left us in peace.

"Honestly, they are very dear people, but they can make such a fuss over things," she said to me while we struggled up the steep steps into the carriage. The train had come down from Wycombe, and made a few stops along the way, so it seemed everyone that day had chosen to take the same train as us. Maybe it was because I had been around Maud for so long, but I found that the manners and general hygiene of the other passengers left a lot to be desired. Hardly had we climbed the steps when we were bumped and jostled by all the rude men and women of Marlow and their children, who must have been indistinguishable from their counterparts in the third class carriages, and certainly made no allowance for our fine clothes, for I had to remind Maud to mind the hem of her dress more than once less some farmer tear it carelessly with his boots. I hoped the Great Western was not so crowded.

"We should have gone first-class," I said grumpily as I helped Maud to place our bags on the shelf above us before we slumped into our seats. Maud glared at me in annoyance since we had agreed previously that we couldn't afford a better carriage. The wooden seats were arranged in pairs, facing forward, and I gave her the window seat so that she wouldn't have to worry about her dress being trampled in the aisle. I felt better once we were moving because the motion kept most of the boisterous children seated. Outside, the scenery flew past, though we were not in fact moving very quickly, and I was only to learn later that they didn't call the engine the Marlow Donkey for nothing. Still, being my third time out on a train I boasted to myself that I was somewhat of a veteran and entitled to be critical. For her part, Maud gazed in rapture out of the window at the farms and fields that passed by before her so quickly, still enamoured by the sights and sounds of a country she had hitherto only read about in books. Inside our carriage, I found it so close that I was glad the windows had been lowered, and I enjoyed the sight of the wind tugging at the ribbons of Maud's hat and the loose strands of her hair as much as, or better even, than that of the scenery beyond, and the morning light that was filtered through the passing trees renewed my sense of adventure as it flashed and danced across Maud's features. The only drawback to this was that the smoke from the engine occasionally came through the open windows to suffocate us inside.

"Sue, do you have a handkerchief?" she said with a hand to her face. "The wind blows dust inside."

I passed her mine and she dabbed at her eye with it.

"Let me see," I said and took her face in my hands. She looked up so that I might examine her eye better but I could find nothing lodged there. I watched her rummaged around her dress.

"I had one, I am sure of it," she muttered.

"What's that, luv?" I asked her.

"My handkerchief; I'm sure I had it in the station," she frowned and looked past me to the aisle. "perhaps I dropped it getting on… why are you laughing, Sue. What is so funny?"

The realization had hit me so sudden that I positively yelped with laughter and had to hide my mouth with my hand from the curious gaze of the other passengers nearby. Maud wore a look of consternation on her face which only got worse when I explained.

"Oh, Maud," I said once I had recovered myself. "I can't believe it! After all the trust you've put in me to get us to London and back, and I let you get robbed like any ordinary flat on the street."

"Robbed?" she gasped, and looked amongst her garments anew in a futile search. "How?"

"It's very easy," I told her when she had given up the search. "All those children bumping into us when we boarded; probably one of them lifted it while we fumbled with the bags."

"Oh," she said, abashed. "What could they possibly want with-."

"They might get a few pennies for one, depending on how new it is," I explained.

"Mine are probably worthless then," she said ruefully, and then added, bitterly, "…serves them right. Still, what an awful thing to have happened."

"Well," I said as indifferently as I could while hiding my smile. "I still have mine."

"Don't say it," she scowled at me indignantly. "If you dare say, _I told you so_, I swear I will hit you, Sue!"

We didn't let the incident dent our mood one bit and if anything our spirits were buoyed when we didn't have to wait long at all in Maidenhead before we were greeted by the awe inspiring sight of the roaring and hissing steam engine of the Great Western that would take us the rest of the way to London. Needless to say, Maud paid particular heed to the safety of her bags and pockets while we boarded.

I never took the train to London before, and Maud could not remember much of the details of the journey she had taken there with Gentleman, so we could not measure our progress by anything familiar to us, like the number of stops we made, or by the names of the towns we passed. Rather, our progress toward the great city had to be gauged by other, less conventional, means. I saw that the river grew ever larger whenever its looping course brought it close to the tracks, and compared this with the width I had observed before from Blackfrier's or London Bridge. It was Maud who discovered the less savoury, but perhaps more accurate measure of our progress; the smell. Every time we drew near the river she wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant odours that grew worse the closer we got, and I had to put a name to each one of them; candle works, a rendering house, cowsheds, another tannery, a slaughterhouse, sewage, and a few others that were awful but that I had no name for. To prepare her for the worst, I explained to her that each village or manufacture emptied it effluence into the river, and every outflow was simply added to that from upriver, until by the time it reached London it had turned the air about the Thames into a reeking miasma. However, there was one measure that we both could see with our eyes as we neared the city; the fog. At first it was like a haze between us and the buildings and trees by the train-tracks, like looking through a film of dirt on the windows, but it grew steadily, especially when the tracks took us close to the banks of the river. Before long we had a hard time even making out the houses and sheds nearest us, and when the conductor told us we were at Paddington, it had grown so thick that I imagine if the train had not stopped there we should have passed right through all of London and been none the wiser for it. Luckily it was the end of the line, and though we missed any of the points of interest on the approach, Paddington Station was as good a place as any to be our first real sight of London.

If a person ever needed a place to be introduced to all the diversions London could provide then they could do worse than start at that place. It was like taking a train right inside the Crystal Palace. From inside the carriage we didn't get see the great metal arches that marked the entranceways to the terminal, rather we noticed the sudden change in the light as we passed inside. Maud held her hat as she pressed her forehead against the glass to view the intricate tracery of glass and steel overhead that curved over us like an enormous hothouse. She caught my eye and smiled back at me shyly.

"When I was here before I was whisked away so quickly I had no chance to see how beautiful it was," she admitted.

No sooner had we been handed down from the carriage by the conductor than we stood and gaped like country tourists at the sights and sounds around us. We were caught in the great crush of people all milling about on the platform, and the air was so thick with the steam and smoke from the trains that we choked on it after having become used to the clear country air for so long. The cacophony of the hawkers, porters and cabmen shouting over the hissing steam-engines took us aback and I was surprised that even I was a touch unprepared for the bustle of London after the solitude of Briar.

"C'mon," I took Maud's arm. "Let's try to find a quieter spot to collect ourselves."

I pulled my skirt to one side to avoid a porter's handcart laden with other people's luggage. I saw Maud looking bemused at a boy selling umbrellas whom she could not understand, then she recoiled from another who pressed her with fruits from an old soiled bag. I pulled her along with one hand and gripped my bag in the other. It was hard to see ahead through the forest of tall hats and the platform beneath our feet was obscured by the wide skirts of the women and the general press of people so that I ran my shin into the metal stairs of the walkway that would take us over the tracks and would have fallen if not for Maud's steadfast grip on my hand. For a few minutes the world was nothing but a swirl of frock coats and coloured shawls and rustling skirts that swept us along in its relentless current until at last we passed through the arched exit where we could escape from the crowd.

Outside, we moved off to one side of the pavement to catch our breath. We found some space for ourselves beside a tall wooden newspaper stand where a man entreated all the passer-bys with his patter. I had hoped the air outside would not be as close as it was inside the station, but the heavy fog, yellow with smoke, mixed with the smell of the livery stables nearby and made the air seem as thick as treacle. In fact, the fog was so thick that the stream of people leaving the station were enveloped by it almost before they had reached the street and even though it was almost noon the light was so dim that the gas-lights on the pavement were bright enough in comparison to shed faint pools of orange light onto the pavement below them. Everything beyond the pavement was lost to sight, and only the clatter of horses betrayed the fact that there was life beyond what we could see.

I looked at Maud solicitously. She looked game enough, though she stared wide-eyed and breathless at the crush of people coming and going through the gates of the station. Perhaps she looked a bit afraid as well. I didn't blame her. When we were still in the relative comfort of the train we thought we would take the Omnibus through London, perhaps one that would take us there the nicer way like Regent Street through to Charing Cross, and from there take another Omnibus across The Strand right to Temple Bar; that would have cost us very little out of our meagre savings. However, now that we were actually in London I could see she had second thoughts about the whole idea. I must admit I did as well. For, though I prided myself on knowing my way about the city, we were far from the Borough, and my ability to find my way about was based more on knowing the landmarks than the name of each and every street, and with the fog laid on so thick that day I couldn't be sure of not losing my bearings and becoming lost in a part of the city where you shouldn't. Also, I don't imagine Maud was ready to be squeezed into a crowded Omnibus with God know who else, especially after the small taste of the crowds we just had in the station. So I prised her bag from her hand that griped it with whitened knuckles.

"Might as well put these down and rest while I go find a hackney to take us," I said and nodded toward the street to the spaces between the people where a faint line of two-wheeled cabs could be seen in the mists.

Maud nodded distractedly and as I turned from her she suddenly put her hand on my arm to stop me and said hesitatingly. "Is it… I mean… it will it not be too expensive will it, Sue?"

I put my hand on hers and gave her a reassuring wink. "Trust me, I'll drive a bargain."

She gave me a smile of thanks and trailed her hand along my arm to send me on my way. I weaved my way through the crowd and tried to decide which cabman to try first. Actually, I was not at all confident that I would be able to strike a bargain for the fare; I only said that to ease Maud's mind over the cost of such an extravagance. There was no trick you could use on a London cabman that he has not seen a hundred times before and it was you who were far more likely to be swindled in the bargain. But luckily, I had a few extra shillings with me that I had saved out of the money Dainty had given me. I had intended to save them to treat Maud to something nice, like a night at one of the hotels, or perhaps a music hall, so you can imagine that I did not want to waste them unnecessarily.

I saw boy in a shirtsleeves suddenly appear at my elbow. He wore a cap crookedly over hair that hung lankly down his back and his braces were frayed and stained where he pulled on them.

"Tupenny map of London, Miss? You'll need a tupenny map," he entreated me with a gap-toothed smile.

The maps were dog-eared and dirty where he held them. I shook my head but gave him a smile back anyway and continued to the cab stand.

"Are you looking for a cab, Miss?" the boy asked still dogging me.

"I can manage, thank-you," I replied firmly. He scowled at me but fell back when he saw a smartly dressed cabman approach us. The cabman wore a short hat in the new style and touched the brim as me gave me a small bow.

"Right this way, Miss," he said heartily and turned to lead the way before I could speak. I had no choice but to follow him to his hackney which turned out to be the third in line. The horse stamped out of boredom and he made a gesture to the carriages in front of us.

"They've gone to get watered, like their horses," he explained and showed his teeth beneath his wide moustache like it was a great joke. "Let me hand you up, Miss."

He gallantly extended an arm to me, but I hesitated.

"I've got a friend waiting over there," I gestured toward the newsstand. I saw his eyes narrow ever so slightly as he caught my accent and noticed him glancing over my dress; sizing me up probably, as the Borough girl I once was.

"We've got an appointment at the Temple," I blurted out but then wished I hadn't, for it had the opposite effect than intended.

"Well," he said noncommittally and shrugged. "Go get the Chancellor and we'll be off."

He had dropped all civility, and I should have upbraided him for treating me like a common girl, but I found that I could only drop my eyes.

"How much to Temple Bar?" I said and my cheeks burned for asking so meekly.

He rocked on his heels while his tongue explored his teeth for the remains of his lunch. "Two shillings six."

It was my turn to sneer then. Thank God I hadn't let Maud get the cab, for she would have been robbed blind. That villain should have blushed to charge such a fare. I was about to tell him so when he simply turned away and pretended to fuss over the horse's harness. To hell with him, I thought.

I turned away and walked further along the ranks of cabs. I looked toward the station and my heart skipped a beat 'cause I could hardly make out the outline of the newsstand through the fog, let alone see where Maud was. I wanted to go back to her, but I still had to secure us a cab. I thought I might go back and we could find a cab together, but I would rather she not know how much I would have to pay. For a moment I was stuck in my tracks from indecision when I heard that same map-boy at my side once more.

"Scuse me, Miss, but ain't that your friend coming?" he asked.

The little wretch had been listening in on my conversation obviously, but I looked where he was pointing to. Through the hazy figures moving through the fog I saw Maud making her slow way through the crowds carrying our bags. I waved and before I could move the boy darted forward and brought her to me, even carrying one of the bags for her.

"I lost sight of you and tried to find you," she explained to me wide-eyed, and then she looked at the boy. "You are kind, thank-you."

I thought he was going to start trying to sell her a map but instead he turned to me eagerly. "If it ain't but the two of you my Uncle is taking his cab home in Lambeth. We cross at Waterloo Bridge, but I'm sure for sixpence he'll go to Temple Bar since it's almost on our way. He always takes someone with 'im. C'mon, he's just over here."

The offer came so sudden that Maud and I simply looked at one another. It was the boy who made up our minds for us by leading the way before we had said anything, and for a second I thought it was just a ruse to make off with my bag, but I saw that he waited to make sure we were close behind him. We followed him past the line at the cab stand and then beyond. I took Maud's bag from her and took her hand and then saw that the fog had closed behind us to obscure even the cab stand from view, and even Paddington Station was just a misty shadow to our left. I was about to call to the boy to stop so that we could retrace our steps when I saw a hackney waiting by the curb. The boy ran ahead and I saw him speak quietly to an old man, who was feeding oats to his horse out of a bag in his hand. Then they both turned and looked at me and Maud. He wasn't a particularly ancient man, and his clean-shaven face looked careworn but kind and his somewhat threadbare frock-coat and faded trousers lent him a certain down-at-heel gentility. As we approached the driver looked up at us and tipped an old felt hat at us.

"It's a right particular day it is. Not a day for fine ladies to be about who are not familiar with our London streets," he declared and knocked the remaining oats from his hands whereupon his horse explored the ground with its lips to retrieve them. I was half inclined to remind him that I was quite familiar with the streets, but worried that if he recognized my accent it might make him less disposed to take us, and so I prompted Maud with my elbow to say something on our behalf.

"We are indeed very grateful to you, sir… and to your nephew, for this kindness," she said graciously.

"Spect my nephew as apprised you of our little routine, eh?" he asked in a way that was not a question. "Ginger's gettin on a bit, but if you'll bear with her we'll get you to Temple Bar for no more than sixpence."

It took a second to figure out he was speaking about the horse. Odd name, though, for a black horse. Still, I gave him a grateful smile and so did Maud, and I watched him hand her up into the cab with the bags as easily as if she were made of feathers. Then it was my turn, but then I realized that with the bags with us there wouldn't be room for the boy and was about to say so when the man saw the look in my eyes.

"Oh, he'll be alright on the back with me. Quite used to it," he assured me.

As the boy passed me to mount the back of the cab I stepped aside and caught him by the arm and bent down to speak quietly to him. "I wouldn't have believed people as kind as you existed in London if I hadn't seen it for myself."

I pressed a coin into his palm and he lowered his face to look at it. I thought at first he was touched by my gesture but on second thought I saw he was looking queerly at me through the fringe of hair that stuck out the front of his cap. It sort of looked just like he was trying not to laugh at me. I lasted only a moment, though, 'cause I saw his uncle make an impatient gesture at the boy.

"Go on! Git on it," he growled.

The boy shot a glance at his uncle before he straightened up and made to get on the carriage, and I noted that all trace of his former expression had gone, but just as his uncle turned away from him the boy's hand shot out and pressed something into my hand. I looked down; it was one of his London maps, and an old one at that. I didn't need to read the front of it to recognise the picture; it was a souvenir map from the Great Exhibition all those years before.

I stepped up to the carriage and gratefully gave the man my sixpence before he handed me up. He was much stronger than he appeared to be, for his arm was a firm as an iron railing. Maud linked her arm through mine and we both settled back into our seats to enjoy the trip through London. It seemed too good to be true.

"Can you believe it, Maud?" I said once we had got under way. "Paddington to Temple Bar for less than what it would cost just one of us to go by the Omnibus!" I whispered to her excitedly.

I felt her arm squeeze mine and her breath on my cheek. "If I didn't know better, Sue, I'd think you had robbed these good people."

She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek that made me blush. Not that anyone else could see us. The fog lay so thick about us that it was all we could do to make out anything but the backside of the carriage in front of us, and I had no idea of our rate of progress. Everything beyond the edge of the road seemed shrouded in the mists and I could hardly tell whether it was house-fronts or shops that we passed. Compounding my confusion, the cabman had not exaggerated when he warned us that his horse was old, for it seemed we were moving little faster than our dog-cart back at Briar. However, it hardly mattered, for we turned on to a busy road where the traffic made our progress even slower than before, and I told Maud to keep one eye out for any road sign that would tell us where we were.

"Oxford Street," declared Maud.

I nodded, satisfied. "Then we're about halfway I think. If he takes us down Drury Lane I might ask him to show you one or two of the theatres thereabouts …but for this bleeding fog."

The fog restricted our view pretty much to the road so that we passed the time pointing out the various carriages that passed by. Most of the traffic was heavy carts laden with goods, but here and there among the cabs and the occasional crowded Omnibus we saw a fine coach or landau and craned our necks like children to see if we could catch a glimpse of the occupants. One coach we saw was drawn by four horses and had a matching pair of footmen in livery on the back. Maud stared and then fell back against the seat of the cab.

"One day," she sighed, and then looked over at me. "One day, Sue, we will come back, and I will ride in a coach just like that one, just to see everyone look at you like you deserve to be looked at. Like I do; like royalty."

I almost had to turn away from her. "Oh stop it, Maud, or you will make me want to cry."

Our cab soon left Oxford Street for a narrow lane. I didn't think we had made it as far as Holborn yet. I imagined if we had turned early we would pass through Mayfair, but when I peered through the mist around us I knew this wasn't Mayfair; far from it.

"What is it, Sue?" asked Maud.

"I don't know where we are," I said looking about us. It was a dark, narrow, street and the buildings that loomed out of the fog on either side of us looked like rough tenements; a rookery of sorts. Some walls were of brick, but most were of weathered and decrepit wood, dirty and sagging, pocked with windows that were broken and sightless.

"Maybe the driver is just avoiding the traffic," Maud suggested, perhaps catching my disquiet.

I nodded vaguely, for I did detect that the driver whipped the old horse along faster than before. However the dimness of the narrow street and the sudden absence of any other carriages made me uneasy; a feeling that grew as the cabman made more turns onto even narrower alleys so that I lost all sense of direction. Something felt very wrong.

"Where are we?" I cried and looked about some more for anything that was familiar to me. There was people about in that district. I saw a barefoot girl in some kind of dirty shift beside a grinning woman who absently carried a naked baby who wailed. Two men shared liquor from a blue bottle. A one-armed boy ran beside us trying to look inside our carriage. This was a bad place; a place just like Lant Street.

If the driver had heard me he did not bother to answer but turned yet again, this time into a dark cul-de-sac where he slowed the carriage and brought it to a stop. There was no one to be seen anywhere, and I felt Maud's arms wrapped around my own.

"Where are we?" she whispered harshly.

Before I could say anything I felt the cab rock as the driver moved, or had descended, from his seat behind us because he sounded very close to one side.

"Ned! Jimmy!" he shouted loudly. We all listened for a reply but there was nothing; indeed, in the fog he might as well have shouted to the ocean.

I heard the man cursed to himself and then shouted from the other side of the cab. "Jimmy?"

"What's happening?" hissed Maud.

"Grab your bag," I ordered her.

"Stay where you are!" he cried, but I thought I detected that his voice wavered. We were almost frozen to our seats in fear, but when I heard the cabman swear once more I knew his plans, whatever they were, had gone awry.

"We have to run," I whispered to Maud and pulled her by the hand to one side of the cab, before I jumped down to the street.

"Christ!" cried the cabman who must have spotted my escape. I tried to pull Maud down after me but her bag became entangled.

"Leave it, Maud! Oh!" I exclaimed 'cause all a sudden the villain jumped down to the ground from the cab as quick as a cat and seized me by the arm. I tried to pull away from him but winced in pain as he gripped me all the tighter. I turned to him and tried to strike out, but in vain. An animal growl escaped from his lips which were drawn back over his dark teeth in a grimace. He certainly was no old man, for his hand bruised my arm like a vice, but his face was florid and beaded, and judging by his wild eyes and his laboured breath, he had not bargained on committing the foul deed on his own.

"Run, Maud!" I groaned.

Maud hesitated and then the cabman threw his free hand up in the air desperately. "Stay where you are! I ain't gonna harm neither of you if you're nice. Sides, you ain't got nowhere to run to. Just give over your purse, like a good girl now. Throw em bags over too."

I thought he was going to break my arm it hurt so, and must have cried out, for I saw Maud suddenly go white and blurt out wildly. "Don't hurt her. I don't have any money."

I felt the man tense and his breath became quick and rasping, and I cringed in his grip, expecting the worse but then from behind us I heard someone else come.

"Hey there! What're you doing to her? Let her go!" a youngish voice challenged.

I was almost thrown to the ground but caught at the edge of the carriage for support and felt Maud's hands seize me from her place above. The cabman (though by this time I had my doubts whether he had in fact ever been a real one) had turned away to face the newcomer. At first I thought it was the so-called nephew who had challenged the cabman, but the person who emerged from the fog was older and wore a topper and waistcoat. It might have been one of his accomplices but one look at the cabman's face told me the gentleman was a stranger to him. A sudden movement caught my eye and Maud jumped down beside me and pulled our bags after her. The Cabman shouted something at us, and made a peremptory gesture with his arm but kept his eye on our rescuer.

"I said leave them alone, sir," said the gentleman.

I felt a tug. "C'mon Sue!"

I resisted, compelled to see what would happen to our rescuer. I watched him point an accusing finger at the cabman. On second thought, he was not an old man, for I could see beneath his topper that his shaved features had the freshness of youth on them, but I groaned nonetheless, 'cause for all his bravado he looked no match for the strongman who assailed us. However his eyes looked determined and he advanced on the cabman with no fear.

I felt a stronger tug from Maud. "Before he's on us again!"

I blinked and picked up our bags from our feet and turned to run. Maud had already started away and pulled me painfully by my bruised arm, but I looked back in time to see the cabman raise his arm to strike the boy down.

A cry rose to my lips involuntarily. "Look out!"

The boy's upraised arms took the full blow from the cabman, but to my surprise he fended him off as easily as one would the fist of a baby. If the cabman was a strongman than the gentleman was a veritable Sampson! He grabbed the shocked cabman by his coat and threw him to the ground where he slid headlong along in the muck of the fog-shrouded street. I stumbled as Maud nearly yanked me off my feet.

"Please, Sue!" she pleaded.

I tore my eyes from the spectacle and we ran away from the sound of the struggle, and followed the edge of the cul-de-sac until we were back into the unknown streets from which we had come. Maud, gasping and white-eyed, tore down the alley with her petticoats showing and it was all I could do to keep up with her, encumbered as I was with both our bags. There were people on the street who loomed in front of us out of the thick fog and were just as quickly swallowed up again when we passed them. I remember their runny eyes, wide with surprise, and their mouths open like dark holes, and the rags that barely covered their scabrous bodies. I could hardly tell whether they were men or women, or children even.

"Maud, wait!" I gasped. I had chased her round a corner and into another alley, and she was almost lost to sight in the fog in front of me.

She slowed where a street crossed the alley and I pulled her by the hand around the corner and into the nearest doorway that, luckily for us, had no one living there. The small space reeked of piss. When she tried to speak I put my fingers to her lips and we both had to stifle our heaving chests as best we could when we heard the clatter of feet that told us we had been pursued, but whether it was the cabman or the mob who sought us I couldn't tell.

At the sound of passing voices we both pressed ourselves into our little alcove and waited for the sounds to recede. While we waited breathlessly, I wondered how we got ourselves into this mess; how could I have been so easily tricked into taking that cab? It was that boy, of course; the nephew, though that too was probably a lie. In hindsight it was easy to see how the scheme worked. The boy scouted out the crowd and hand-picked the pigeons to be lured to the cab. The uncle then took the intended victims to the thieves' den where they were robbed, perhaps of their very lives. In hindsight it should have been obvious by the way the cab wasn't even parked with the others at the cab stand. I shuddered at the thought that we might have become another pair of unidentified bodies that were fished out of the Thames every day. It did cross my mind too that the nephew who sold the maps wasn't with us when we stopped; probably he was still back in Paddington Station looking for the next pigeons, I thought ruefully. To think I called him kind; well, the pox on the lot of them!

It had grown quiet on the street. Hand in hand Maud and I looked carefully out of the doorway we were sheltered in.

I held Maud close to me. "I think it's alright. If we can find the main road we'll be safe enough. Can you find me the name of the street? Maybe I've heard of it."

Maud pointed. "Over there. It is painted on that wall. It says 'Lichfield', I think. Do you know it?"

My heart sank and I shook my head. If only the cabman had taken us to the Borough, I thought sourly, then I might find our way out of there; that is, if we got out alive.

"Perhaps if we go to the next street," Maud suggested with a squeeze of my hand.

"I dunno, Maud," I said helplessly, looking up and down the street in despair. "We might be worse off there. If we only had a map we-."

The words were no sooner out of my mouth then I remembered the boy's map and pulled it from the pocket of my skirt and gave it to Maud. She looked at the cover.

"It is from '51," she commented dubiously as she opened it up.

"Well, I bet you anything this street's been here a lot longer than that," I retorted.

Despite our predicament Maud smiled at my slight chiding and opened the map. It was mid-day, but the fog had reduced the light so much that we still had to put our heads together and peer at it closely to see. Maud gasped as London unfolded. Page after page it grew, like a monster.

"Can you help me, Sue?" Maud fretted. "I don't know where to start."

I looked at the engraving and recognised the familiar shape right off. The Thames writhed like an eel across the middle of the map and I traced my finger along it to where the bridges crossed it like the slashes of a knife. There was Blackfriers, and London bridge. It was hard to resist the urge to follow their paths and find the familiar haunts of my childhood, but I had Maud now, and there was nothing for me in Lant Street anymore.

"Here's Westminster Bridge, and next Waterloo," I said and then moved my hand up the map. "Up here is Paddington Station, where we started, so this road across the middle is Oxford Street."

Maud peered closer and squinted. "Yes, it says Oxford."

I nodded. "We came down from the station, and then he took us along Oxford and we must have passed Regent Street and not noticed in the fog, but I'm sure we didn't cross High Street before we turned, 'cause the main roads all run together there. Christ, we would have certainly smelled the hogyards if we had. So we must be somewhere about here."

I groaned as I looked closer at the spot where my finger had come to rest.

"What is it, Sue. What's wrong?"

I was looking at a spot beside my finger. I didn't need to read the letters to recognise the star-like shape that seven small streets make when they cross at one place. Everyone in London knew that place, and at night, or in the fog, most feared and avoided it.

"It's Seven Dials, Maud. We must be in St Giles."

She raised her eyebrows. "Seven Dials?"

I gave her a crooked smile. "It's one place you don't want to be when you're two lone girls who are wandering lost in the fog."

Maud looked meekly from me to the map. "Let me see."

I passed it to her and took a small pleasure in spying the small wrinkles on the bridge of her nose as she brought the paper close to her face to read the fine printing. Then I kept watch and listened. There were noises about us, but like is typical in the fog you couldn't be sure of where the sounds were coming from, or whether they were far away or nearer. I bit my lip to keep myself from pestering Maud while she tried to find where we were.

"Lichfield, I found it!" she cried.

"Quiet Maud! …sorry." By then my nerves were going something awful. "Where are we?"

"Here," she pointed to a spot a little below where I thought we might be.

I sighed; it might have been worse. At least we didn't have to pass through the notorious Seven Dials, but we still had a fair amount of London still to cross, a journey I didn't savour one bit, all things considered. I looked at Maud, who was still absorbed with the map, and had the sudden urge to fix her hair which had come loose in places. Her lovely skirt too, was dirtied a full eight inches up the hem. I must look a fright as well, I thought wretchedly. She felt my eyes on her and looked up at me.

I said. "Listen, we still got pretty much all our money, and right now I'd like nothing more than to just get this business with the lawyer over with, whatever the cost, even if it means we only have just enough coin left to get right back on the train and go home without seeing one more speck of London."

She looked at me with eyes full of trust. Imagine that, after I'd made bollocks out of all our plans. Her hand stroked my arm in unspoken sympathy. "Alright, Sue. Whatever you think is best."

Looking again at the map I saw a broad street that intersected our own and ran straight down toward the Thames. I squinted at the small lettering and sounded the letters out wordlessly. "Maud, does that say St Martins?"

Maud peered closely at the fine print and looked slightly surprised. "Yes it does."

I gave a self-satisfied smile. "I know where we are. That's a main road out of Charing Cross. I'm certain we can find a cab on it; a real cab this time, Maud; and this time no bargains!"

I took her by the hand and we slipped out of our doorway quietly, like thieves. We scurried along the pavement, and followed the tenement walls with our bags and our skirts bouncing together. The fog still was laid on so thick we could hardly make out the other side of the street. We passed an old woman who sat smoking a pipe in a doorway, but she took no notice of us. We passed an alley and I made Maud stop for I had not seen it on the map and had a sudden misgiving that we were going the wrong way.

"What's this? Is this on the map?" I released Maud's hand and retraced my steps a bit to see if there was a plaque, or a name printed anywhere on the sooty brick walls for Maud to read, but I couldn't find one.

"Let me look," she said and juggled her bag so that she might fish out the map again from the pocket in her skirt. I watched her from the corner and then to my horror I saw behind her a dark shadow emerge quickly from the mist.

"Look out, Maud!" I screamed and without thinking I ran to her.

Maud had turned in fright as the man was almost upon her. I must have reached her at the same time as he, for I thrust Maud aside as I saw him dive forward, and I felt my feet being swept from under me and the world spin as I toppled over. All sounds were drowned by the explosive whoosh of our breaths as I landed right on top of him and lay for a moment completely winded. My heart was going a mile a minute and I opened my mouth but couldn't speak. I tried to struggle to my feet but the figure beneath me wriggled and made me fall again.

"Ouch, get off me, Miss," cried a voice.

I fought for breath and looked up and saw Maud's eyes look as wide as saucers. "It's him, Sue!"

"Run, Maud!" I croaked and then found one of the man's legs beneath my hands and gripped it, determined to hang-on gamely to our foe. In the back of my mind I wondered how in the world the cabman could have possibly found us in the fog. However he managed it, I thought grimly, I wouldn't see my Maud be caught by that villain again.

"No, Sue, it's not _him_!" she exclaimed. "It is the other one; the one who fought him off."

"What?" I said when I regained my voice.

"Let me get up, Miss…please," said the voice underneath me.

I scrambled to my feet and jumped back just in case, but whoever it was that knocked me down he did nothing more than scrabble about on his knees to retrieve his topper from the gutter. I bent down a bit to peer at him. Maud was right sure enough, it _was_ the man who had rescued us from the cabman, or rather the boy. Without his hat on I could see his hair was thick as a shrub but curled so tightly it barely fell below his ears. beneath it he had the smooth, fresh, youthful features of someone probably a couple years my junior. In fact, what I had taken for clean-shaven was more likely the inability to even cultivate a beard or whiskers, yet as he picked himself up, and drew himself to his full height, I noticed that for a boy he looked as tall and strapping as any man. He looked himself over, and I noticed that his black trousers and waistcoat were only made of dark corduroy and his shirt collar had torn loose, being only made of paper. Even his hat was poor, being just lacquered. He was certainly no gentleman or even gentleman's son, but likely only a poor boy; probably just another guttersnipe hoping Maud and I will reward him; or maybe a villain himself who just wanted us all to himself.

I backed away nervously, and placed myself between him and Maud, all the while keeping my eyes on him, for I recalled how easily he had manhandled the cabman, and it was clear that we could do nothing to stop him if he had a mind to come at us again.

He didn't look like he was going to harm us, though. He was so absorbed with wiping the muck from his hat that, for the moment, he ignored me and Maud entirely. In fact the more I watched him the more confused I became about his intentions. He didn't look like he was about to hurt a fly.

I stole a quick glance at Maud who leaned breathless against the wall behind me, heedless to the dirt there. "Are you alright?"

She nodded feebly and sidled over to me to pick up her bag but stopped when she noticed how dirty it had got in the struggle and just looked sadly at it and then at her own clothes. She was a sight. The wall had left soot on her jacket and the sleeve of her blouse at her wrist, and then I saw more of it on her taffeta skirt on top of the filth that had already got on the hem from running. I desperately wanted to brush it all off but my own hands were horribly filthy where I had fallen, and my skirt was disgustingly wet down one side; the jade silk clinging darkly to my crinoline like seaweed. The sight of all our fine things ruined by that boy made any fears I had desert me, and when he finally looked up at us I ignored Maud's protestations to stand before him and hold out my reeking hands and slimy skirt.

"What did you do that for?" I demanded.

"Me?" he asked incredulously, apparently taken aback.

"Yes you! Why did you come at Maud like that?" I repeated.

He started to point at Maud but became so disgusted with his own hand he started flicking the muck from it back onto the pavement, and then became so preoccupied with picking at his clothes that his words came out all disjointed. "Come at her? God's own truth… never saw her, miss… the fog… I am so very late… Lord… but... it was she who tripped me up with her bag as I passed."

I looked at Maud. "Tripped him?"

She coloured and shrugged sheepishly. "I might have dropped my bag into his path when you shouted at me."

"Look at me," he spread his arms out and surveyed his trousers despairingly. "Saints preserve us that I should return like this. My best all mucked up."

"Mucked up?" I seethed. "Look what you done to my skirt. If you weren't such a blundering…"

I swallowed my words. I could see he wanted to wipe off the muck that clung to his jacket but looked in distress at his hands which, if anything, had come out of the experience worse off than my own. Good for him, I thought bitterly, and continued to glare disdainfully at him. Then to my consternation Maud stepped forward and offered him her handkerchief.

"What are you doing?" I gasped, and snatched it from her hand.

"I am so sorry about what happened," Maud said to him and took the handkerchief back from me with a slightly reproachful look into the bargain, and then offered it to him once again. "But you startled us. We had mistaken you for the very man who had tried to rob us. You must believe us; Sue and I are very grateful to you for what you did for us back there. Aren't we Sue?"

She said that last part so pointedly to me that I huffed at her, but it occurred to me that in my anger I had quite forgotten that, if it weren't for the boy, anything might have happened to us at the hands of the crooked cabman, and it was just like Maud to think of the polite thing to say. The boy gratefully bobbed his head as he took the proffered handkerchief from her and then made me start by placing it at once into my own muddied hand and motioned for me to make use of it instead.

"I suppose," I said quite grudgingly, but I felt my face colour.

He looked up from his clothes. "It's what any good Christian would do, miss. Well, the Lord must have been looking out to make sure you wouldn't come to no harm; or maybe He caused me to get lost in this fog just to place me in your path, else I wouldn't have been there so providently. Where were the police, though? I think it's a crying shame, don't you, that there aren't policemen out on a day like this?"

I stared at him warily. By his accent he sounded like any other poor Londoner sure enough, but under those brown curls he had such a pallor where one would have expected to find him all ruddy from life on the streets. Plus, I didn't know what to make of all his pious chatter. Perhaps he was a priest of sorts, or a priest's helper who spends his days locked-up in some monastery; that would explain his colour, I thought, though I'd never seen the bookish sort throw a grown man clean across the street before. He was a mystery for sure, at a time when we couldn't afford more, so I took Maud by the arm and fetched up her bag. I thought it best we got away rather than tarry.

"C'mon," I said and tried to steer her away.

She hesitated and looked at him. "We're going? But what about him?"

"Don't worry about me; I'll find my way," he said without much conviction and his big brown eyes followed our passing like a lost puppy's.

"I'm really sorry about what happened," he called after us miserably.

Another second and I'm sure we'd have never shed him, so I walked away and Maud soon came abreast of me and pulled at my arm. I tried to shrug her off but, what with carrying our bags, could not. Finally I sighed and was forced to stop. Maud wore a doubtful look and gazed back to where the boy had been swallowed by the mists behind us.

"He said he was lost," she said. "Should we not help him find his way?"

"Get on with you," I rebuked her and then spoke quietly. "We can't afford to play nursemaid to every urchin who wanders across our path, else we'll never get out of here."

Maud, however stood rooted and pouted. "Still, do we not owe him something for rescuing us?"

She had a point there, but I set my lips in stubborn refusal and turned to go.

"I think I can see it now," I heard her say with a curious edge to her words.

It made me stop and I turned to find her looking at me with a slight curl to her lip. She might have been hiding a smile, or a sneer; I couldn't tell rightly in the dim light.

"What?"

She lifted her chin ever so slightly. "That mulishness. There's more Lilly in you than you think."

I think she only teased me, but it nevertheless struck a nerve somewhere inside me, and I could only hide my chagrin by trying to strike out at her in a playful way, but missed by a mile when she skipped neatly away from me, and I caught the twinkle in her eye that told me she was just toying with me.

"We could strike a bargain with him," she said hopefully. "We will find his way for him and in return he can be our escort until we find a taxicab."

"Escort?" I exclaimed and held out my soiled skirt. "After what he bloomin' did to us? What we need is…"

"Shh," Maud hissed.

We both froze at the sudden sound of shuffling steps ahead. An unintelligible shout echoed queerly in the narrow lane and was just as quickly silenced. In the sudden quiet that followed, the menace of St Giles seemed to close about us like the oppressive fog and I drew Maud close to me.

"I think you're right, Maud," I whispered. "Perhaps the boy can make himself useful."

We retraced our steps gingerly and had only gone partway when we became aware that someone approached. I peered gingerly into the mist while my arm held Maud back protectively. In a second we heard the sound of the boy's voice calling towards us.

"Hoy there, can you tell me where… . Oh, hello again," he said as he materialised out of the mist. He couldn't keep the disappointment from his voice, but Maud wasted no time in presenting our proposal.

"Hello, we couldn't just leave you here. Perhaps we can help each other. What should I call you?"

"Call me? You mean my name?" he stammered to her questioning face. "I am called Tom – I mean Thomas, miss… Thomas Bodle."

He fidgeted and didn't appear to know what to do with his hands. I looked at Maud and suppressed a smile as she made the introduction so formally that he was discomfited all the more by her graciousness, despite the state of our clothes, and it required her sharp elbow to silence my snigger when he jerked off his hat and almost let it fall into the muck again.

"May I call you Thomas?" Maud asked. "Well, we know the way to the main road from here. We can take you there with us, and if you can help us find a taxicab we will gladly help you find where you are going."

"God bless you, Miss," he said and, after a moments hesitation, turned those big cow eyes on me. "And you too, Sue. I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me for what happened."

Against his pale features his face suddenly burned crimson and the way he spoke my name so earnestly made my sharp reply stick in my throat. I think we have both felt a bit awkward. When I didn't say anything he donned his hat nervously and moved away from Maud, and I caught her looking wryly at him through narrowed eyes, and then at me.

"What?" I said but then followed her eyes to where the boy stood close beside me.

"If you'll permit me, Sue," he said, and I gave a start to find him so very close to me. He was looking at me with those big eyes of his, and held his arm out to me in a posture of exaggerated gallantry. I looked at his proffered arm, and then at his foolish expectant face, and I would have laughed in it if only his expression didn't bear such a resemblance to Charles, that knife-boy from Briar who got me out of the madhouse, whom I never got the chance to thank properly. Before I could think of anything to say, Maud made a sound in her throat and I found her near to me as well, with her mouth set in an impish curl.

"You can carry the bags, Thomas," she told him sideways and then she took my arm and placed herself, rather, at my side. Even in the dim light I saw her teeth sparkle from behind her parted lips that were turned to me so that they were hidden from Thomas's crestfallen eyes, and she wore that particular little smile that I think she saved just for me and which has never failed to make my heart skip a beat.

"She's with me," she added quietly to my face.

Thomas walked in front of us with the bags. When he heard we were going to St Martins Lane he confessed that that was the very street he had been walking along before he lost his way.

"If I'm lucky I might just find my way back from there," he proclaimed. "I pray I'm not too late."

"Late?" we asked him together.

"It's the curfew," he stated but didn't elaborate.

He walked quickly, not just because he was late, but with no more fears regarding our safety we no longer had to creep about or hide ourselves. If I had any doubts whether Thomas would be of any assistance, the boy himself had no such reservations. Like a child given a part in a penny gaff, he threw himself wholeheartedly into his role as our protector. He walked in front, swinging our bags like they contained naught but feathers, and put on a fierce expression for everyone who emerged out of the fog before us. Hawkers stared, but did not pester us; a gang of beggar children dared not say a word let alone come near us, and two shiftless looking men who I swear were housebreakers from the Borough gave way when Thomas shouted; _'Move aside, there are Ladies here!_' After each such encounter, he was likely to turn excitedly to me and Maud with a grin that said; _did you see that?_

At these times we could only smile or nod to him in agreement for lack of breath. In fact, we could barely keep up with him; such was the pace he set. I was faint from hunger; I couldn't remember the last time I ate. It didn't seem to affect Maud; she could go all day with nothing more than a piece of toast. In contrast, I resorted to looking down at the pavement before me and simply forced myself to place one foot in front of the other and hoped that Maud would not allow me to smash my head on a lamp-post.

"Thomas, we must stop!" I heard Maud say. She was so tired she gripped my arm so that I thought she should pull it out of place, but when I tried to support her I realised that it was I who was in danger of falling and she had all the while been literally holding me up.

"But we're almost there. I think I hear carriages," I heard Thomas say ahead of us. I tried to look up but found I was only capable of maintaining the same mechanical pace as before, like some old knackered cart-horse on its familiar track. My head swam.

"Help me with her!" Maud called out. I heard Thomas's shoes on the pavement. A strong arm brought me to a halt and supported me. I tried to assure them that I would be fine enough until we found a carriage for hire but I uttered only a quiet mumble. Familiar hands cupped my face and when my head was lifted my vision swirled momentarily like I was on a carousel, and an ugly sensation filled my stomach.

"Sit her on our bags," Maud commanded. I felt myself lowered and could only think that my dress would be further ruined on the pavement and struggled feebly against the supporting arms until I was fairly forced to sit down. However, at once I began to feel better and Maud's solicitous face hovered in front of my own.

"What happened? What'll I do?" I heard Thomas say.

I smiled weakly and pawed at Maud's hands to free myself. "It's nothing, really. It's passing."

Maud turned her head. "She had been ill for quite some time. I should have-."

"I'm not ill," I protested and tried to rise. A wave of dizziness washed over me but I fought it down until it passed. Still, Maud's hands were on my shoulders and I meekly submitted to her will.

"Stay, Sue," she said softly and I sought out her hand and breathed deep until my head cleared.

"Listen," he said. "That road is just there. I'll run and find a carriage for you and bring it here. I won't be long."

I reached up to touch his sleeve. "But you said you're late already. You'll miss your curfew. You say St Martins is close by? Don't stay on my account; Maud and I can find a taxicab on our own. I'm fine I assure you."

My senses were returning, but my limbs still felt so heavy. I felt my hand pressed down and his shadow loomed over me while he spoke. "I couldn't leave you like this for anything."

With that he was gone into the mist with a clatter of boots. Maud watched him disappear and then turned back to me knotting and un-knotting her hands in front of her.

"I'm fine, really," I smiled weakly and waved her away. "Just one more minute and we can be on our way."

Maud looked up and down the street. "Well, we will have to wait for him to return."

We listened together. From beyond the curtain of fog we could hear the sound of carriages and horses close at hand. I felt altogether better by then. Mostly better.

"You shouldn't have told him I was sick," I said shortly.

"Oh?"

"You make it sound like I'm feeble," I protested despite how I felt. "It's simply that I haven't had a morsel in God knows."

Maud shrugged with indifference. "If you are afraid that your swoon has put him off you do not have to worry on that account."

"I don't follow."

She levelled her gaze at me. "If anything it has made him even more in love with you."

I stared after him and my mortification must have been written on my face. "With me? No!"

"He's positively smitten, Sue," she continued in a resigned voice. Then I caught the glint in her eye and her face split into a grin showing those lovely wrinkles on the bridge of her nose.

"Stop it, Maud!" I tried to be stern but laughed nonetheless. "You are wicked."

"Utterly," she confessed with a smile. "At least I put a bit of colour back into your cheeks. You had me worried."

I waved away her concern and pointed. "Look, he's back already."

Preceded by the sound of his shoes, Thomas emerged from the fog at a half-run and pulled up before us wearing a slightly worried expression, as if he was afraid we wouldn't wait for him.

"The carriage follows directly," he said breathlessly, and we all turned expectantly in the direction from which we could hear the passing carriages on the adjacent road. I took the opportunity to tell Maud to take her jacket off and placed it in one of our bags. In her still-white blouse you wouldn't know she'd been through what we had. Unfortunately, my dress still looked dreadful. There was an interlude of quiet, and Thomas shuffled his feet aimlessly and came to a halt beside where I sat. I looked up quizzically at Maud and drew her attention to him. She made a small sound in her throat.

"You have been most kind, Thomas," she said. "But do not allow us to delay you any longer. I fear we have made you late as it is."

He removed his hat and, oblivious to the muck, ran his hand fretfully through the dense curls of his hair.

"I just pray I'm not too late, else they'll never trust me out again," he moaned.

"Trust you out?" Maud knit her brow.

"I'm trusted out once a week to start," he explained proudly, then his face fell. "But if I Transgress it'll force the Reverend to take away the privilege. I might even be demoted-"

"The Rever-" began Maud.

"You're a workhouse boy, aren't you?" I blurted out almost before the notion had formed in my head.

"A workhouse boy?" repeated Maud, and he nodded uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

"Yes, Miss, I abide at the St Giles workhouse. D'you know it, Miss?"

Maud looked blankly at me and I, in turn, looked at Thomas with astonishment. I had never laid eyes on the place but of course I knew it as a place no one would go near. Indeed, there wasn't a soul back in Lant Street who didn't owe their living, in one form or another, to the fearful reputation of the workhouse. Back in those days plenty of sharps had passed through Mr Ibbs' shop who claimed it was better to do time in Newgate, or Pentonville rather than place yourself at the mercy of public relief; but I had never met anyone daft enough who would willingly return to one, let alone live in it.

"I've heard of it," I told him. "I can tell you how to get there from here, I think."

I realised I would have to point him in the right direction and made to stand, but the bags I sat on had settled so low that it was awkward, and made me look more unsteady than I felt.

"Here, let me, Sue," he implored and bent down.

"I can manage, really," I spoke to him curtly to fend him off as I stood up. I caught Maud looking rather gravely at me and shot her an overly gay smile to mollify her, then I gestured to Thomas wearily and pointed with my arm.

"It's on the other side of Seven Dials," I said to him. "Look, you must take St Martins up to where all the roads come together, then take one of the roads to your right… do you follow me?"

I saw him look helplessly into the fog, and I in turn sighed as I grew impatient with my own inability to put my thoughts into words.

"D'you remember; there's a place there that displays all sorts of clothes? You can't fail to…"

The clatter of the approaching hackney prevented me from continuing and I watched as Maud stepped up and waved to the cabman lest he miss us in the fog. We all watched the hackney expectantly, and I felt my spirits rise somewhat at the sight of it emerging from the fog. For a hackney it was a good deal better turned out that the last one; the horse especially appeared to be one of the better sort, walking briskly and proud. As the carriage drew up to the pavement I saw the driver tip his hat to us. He was smartly dressed in a long frock coat, and even the dim light seemed to gleam off of his oiled whiskers and the silk plush hat. He climbed down and gestured to the polished leather seat that glowed invitingly.

"Here, let me get those for you, Sue," said Thomas, who I found once again close by me. He was reaching for the bags that I'd been sitting on.

"I'll get them," I said, more brusquely than ought to, but my fatigue had made me short with him; or maybe his cloying solicitude was just getting on my nerves. "Don't you have to be somewhere? You do know where you are going, don't you?"

"I…I…" he flinched, somewhat taken aback by my terse manner. I turned to Maud but she was already speaking to the cabman, so I glowered at Thomas.

"Damn," I muttered to myself, then spoke louder. "Oh, you might as well come with us then and we'll take you back; though why anyone in their right mind would want to go back there…"

He positively beamed. "The Lord bless you, Sue; and you too, Miss."

"Yeah alright, just get the bags then," I said dismissively and turned to see Maud nervously shifting her weight as she spoke softly to the cabman and I shushed Thomas to listen.

"… if you only knew what we've been through," she pleaded.

"And now you'll be wanting to go to some poorhouse?" the cabman complained. "It just ain't what I bargained for."

"We shall pay you in advance of course," she murmured, probably hoping I wouldn't hear.

I felt I should say something, but I felt too tired to argue and let it be. I motioned for Thomas to follow me and was just waiting for the cabman to help Maud into the carriage when I heard him snigger to Maud.

"D'you want help wiv that one?"

I took a few seconds to realise he meant me; like I was some poor destitute waif that Maud was going to leave at the workhouse. Christ, I thought, did I look so poorly? I instinctively put my hands to my face and could feel my embarrassment burning my cheeks for all to see. I looked to Maud but she was almost in the carriage; but she must have sensed my discomfort 'cause she turned to whisper something fierce into the cabman's ear. The effect was immediate. He gave a start, and his sneering face changed at once into wide-eyed trepidation and he fumbled his hat off his head and looked at me with a fawning half-smile.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Miss, but how was I supposed to know? I'm just a poor man, wiv an' family to feed an' all. Here, let me hand you up nice an easy, to sit beside the other Miss."

I wanted to say something nasty to him but couldn't think of anything; still, it was gratifying enough to have seen Maud humble the man. One thing I did know was that I'd be damned if I was going to let him touch me. I ignored his proffered hand, pointedly, and walked to the carriage steps with as much dignity as I could muster, given that the muck had begun to harden on my skirt and flaked off in shards with every step I took. I paused at the step and looked expectantly at Thomas while he simply returned my gaze questioningly with those big cow eyes of his.

"Well?" I demanded after a moment.

He looked bemused. "What?"

I rolled my eyes. "Hand me up you great dolt!"

"Oh… sorry," he mumbled, red-faced, and put our bags down to hand me up into the carriage to sit beside Maud. She pretended to study the far side of the street, but the hand that covered her mouth couldn't hide the tiny laugh-lines on the bridge of her nose or the twinkle in her eyes. She met my eye and I smirked back at her as I felt the carriage tilt slightly and Thomas planted himself firmly on the seat beside me. Maud gave me a nudge and I looked just in time to catch a glimpse of the driver before he disappeared to mount the carriage behind us. The man steadfastly avoided my gaze, and muttered distractedly while he wrung his hands, which made Maud laugh and I couldn't help but laugh with her. Thomas must have thought we had made a joke at his expense 'cause he said nothing and preferred to sit sulkily in stony silence. With a lurch the carriage started to move and I settled back against the soft leather seat, too tired to worry anymore, and content to luxuriate in the small pleasure of smelling leather and horse rather than the reek of the alley. The cabman took us onto the main road which was wide enough that the dilapidated warehouses and row houses that I knew were there were mercifully hidden from view by the fog. Instead, we were now surrounded by just the comforting sound of our fellow carriages on the road and the occasional voice of our cabman when he muttered instructions to his horse. I heard Maud sigh and we both settled back in our seat.

"By the way, Maud," I said after a while. "What _did_ you say to the cabman?"

She grinned mischievously. "I told him your father's a Member of Parliament and will see to it that he never drives a carriage again in London again."

I let my mouth fall open. "No! Did you? You little schemer," I chided her.

"I've learned from the best," she said smugly.

I grinned and rubbed shoulders with her until we heard Thomas's voice float over to us from the other side of the seat.

"D'you say something?" I asked.

"It's a sin you know… lying," he scolded us.

I sighed irritably; I found his righteousness had become tiresome.

"Get on with you!" I rebuked. "Aren't there enough sinners for you inside the workhouse? I daresay it's full of the worst sort; too low to make an honest living, an' too slow to make a dishonest one, eh?"

I laughed at my own cleverness but he sullenly turned away. Maud leaned forward and looked at him pensively and then at me.

"You forget, Sue, that society is not what he imagined after being kept away from it for so long."

I sharp reply rose in my throat but stuck there.

"Well," I said while I nodded towards the road ahead. "He needn't worry about that for long. He'll be back home soon enough; we are coming to Seven Dials."

I watched Maud look up the road, her face full of curiosity mixed with apprehension. The road had grown narrower, no more than a lane, and we were squeezed between dirty brick tenements that loomed over us on either side. The air was rank and if possible even darker than the alley, but the pavement on our near side was close enough that we could see all that passed by. Despite my fears of the place, it seemed the great mass of Londoners did not share my reluctance, for there were many people about, though admittedly none whom you'd call gentlemen, for they wore only common and coarse things. They were heedless to the horse-shit that lay thick everywhere, even to the point of tramping through it into our path. Our driver muttered to slow the horse to avoid them, and then I saw the animal stamp impatiently as the road became further clogged with all the hand-carts that bore objects commonly found in such places like this; rags, worn-out boots and old hats, even a cartful of wooden legs. The veritable swarm of people drew our eyes, and the nervous excitement of the bustling street gradually replaced the chill that had dogged me from the time spent in the dangerous solitudes of the alleyway, so that for the moment I forgot about my hunger. Voices came at us from all sides. A pieman called to all and sundry and banged loudly on a gravy pot kept hot on the smoking brazier beside him. Likewise a beggar, dressed in a kind of faded uniform of sorts, exhorted anyone willing to listen that he was 'crippled in The Crimea', though I'd heard that one before even when I was a child; probably he was not even crippled. Maud pointed excitedly at a boy in wooden shoes who balanced an enormous basket of bread on his head. Just as I looked he started yelling at a young girl who Maud had caught jumping up to steal one of his loaves. An old woman near him cackled at his misfortune. Groups of Irish boys dodged about between the carts and carriages, shouting to one another, and added to the confusion around us.

Suddenly, amid a great deal of cursing, we came to a halt. We all craned our necks to see what happened. Beyond our horse our road entered Seven Dials proper, but the sheer number of carts trying to jostle their way in and out had caused a jam. Maud started as our driver shouted an obscenity, and even the pavement vendors gleefully joined in so that the noise of the crowd steadily grew in proportion to the jostling until, like timbers groaning under the strain before snapping, their voices broke into to a final angry roar just as we surged forward and spilled like water into Seven Dials.

So fast did we emerge from the dark lane that the foggy air seemed suddenly brighter, almost dazzling; and though we were moving forward again the jostling of the carriages and carts inside Seven Dials was almost worse than before. Of course you know how the traffic on the roads becomes tangled at a crossing; but you must imagine the confusion and press of it when multiplied several-fold at Seven Dials, and because the fog prevented us from seeing the far side, it might have appeared, to the uninitiated, that the carnival of people and carriages before us went on forever. I think it was like that for Maud, 'cause she gasped and gripped my arm tightly to her. Actually, I think my own eyes must have appeared just as wide as Maud's, and my pulse could not have for the life of me been one beat slower. I watched her crane her neck this way and that to catch the sights; I caught her staring at the rag-shop where the whole front of the building was hung with printed frocks, like banners at a fair; and at the hatter, on the other side of the circle, who had perched his wares high atop a forest of long rods so that they wavered over the crowd like a swarm of angry bees. We both looked up at the girls about, too. Prostitutes in bright clothes who advertised their trade by sitting precariously on the window ledges above us, like large lurid birds; some of them so high up that a fall would surely have been fatal, but I guess it was the best way to get noticed in such a thick crowd.

For a crowd it definitely was; loudly bickering and bargaining on the pavement and even blocking the road. Don't ask me why, but street corners have always been the place to go for Londoners, whether they're looking for someone, or selling something, or are just curious to see who shows up; so you can imagine the attraction a place with seven of them all in one place has.

So infectious was the boisterous mood of the crowd that in my excitement I tugged at Maud's sleeve. "Look at it, eh, Maud? This must be the very beating heart of London!"

She stared with eyes bright with wonder, and whispered. "Indeed. I have never seen the like."

Such was the carnival-like atmosphere we conjured for ourselves. At that moment my prior warning to Maud about the place seemed only a dim memory. Perhaps it was a recklessness born of nothing more than the feeling of relief at finally being safe inside our carriage with Thomas beside us to keep us from harm. We were like swells, out for a drive to gape at the common folk, and when the cabman had navigated us through the intersection, and turned the hackney onto one of the roads out of Seven Dials, both Maud and I held on to our hats and hung our heads out of the carriage so as to take one more look at the place. Only Thomas did not look back.

I turned. "You say nothing, Thomas. Didn't you like it?"

I saw Thomas stiffen, and saw him pull the brim of his topper down almost over his eyes and slouch down indecorously in his seat. Who did he think he was, I wondered, to be too proud to be seen in the company of so many common folk?

"It must be them! I reckon this is the place," he muttered and peeked evasively over the side of the hackney. I saw the whites of his eyes gleam fearfully, and I realised he had been trying to hide himself out of sight all along. Curious, I leaned to see what it was, but noticed only two young women strolling lazily towards Seven Dials. I felt a breath on my ear and knew Maud watched them with me, and I think anyone would have recognised them for what they were regardless of the cheap but bright printed skirts they wore that showed their ankles as the badge of their trade; the way they walked; that particular way they placed their hands at their hip, the way their hair seemed to have come loose so carelessly from beneath their hats. It was obviously them that Thomas was hiding from, and I imagined the fun those girls might have had at the expense of an innocent babe like him. Maud, I supposed, might have been wondering the same thing as well, cause her eyes had a mischievous light about them.

"The place…?" Maud asked him.

"Where it happened," he quailed and slouched lower still. "Honest to God, Miss, I only wanted to go out and see some society; but I'd gone no more than the length of the courtyard away from the workhouse when I was accosted by all manner of immoral and wicked people.

"Immoral?" I chuckled.

"Wicked?" echoed Maud, and I could sense Maud's stifled laughter.

He nodded vigorously. "They blocked my path, and _that_ one asked me if I fancied them going home with me."

As he said it he tilted his head toward the pair outside before he continued. I looked, but couldn't tell which of the girls he meant.

"I told 'em that they needn't have waited for my company to go to the Workhouse. I said they could go whenever it suited them, if they wanted to be Depauperised," he explained, and then his face burned scarlet. "It was when they came up close to me that I figured out what they wanted of me."

He leaned closer to us to whisper conspiratorially. "They had fallen into sinful living."

"Really!" I gasped in mock disbelief and felt Maud's elbow in my ribs, but her own were fairly shaking by then.

He nodded again, so vigorously that he had to catch his hat lest it slide down onto his nose. Just as well, 'cause it gave Maud a moment to grin at me before we composed our features while he was occupied.

"I shouldn't be telling you this," he declared in a low voice, once he regained control of his hat. "It ain't right for Ladies to hear me tell of the wickedness to which these women can descend to."

I snorted and looked at Maud, to gauge her reaction to that, and caught the twinkle in the corner of her eye as she glanced back at me as well, but when she bent toward Thomas she put on a look of gravity.

"I assure you my ears are quite inured to such things, Thomas," she said. "And Sue here has been so much among them you would not be the first if you even mistook her for one of them."

I started to make an indignant sound but Thomas cut me off as he suddenly sat upright and beamed at Maud and I. "You're from the Society? I might have guessed from that place where I found you! Helping the poor were you? Though, the Society oughtn't send you to places as rough as all that. But what a coincidence! The Reverend has invited your Society to come to the workhouse plenty of times to check on the progress of the-."

"Society? What society?" I asked, confused.

Thomas frowned at us. "So you're not from the Society then? Then what were-"

"I beg your pardon, Thomas, but to which society are you referring?" interrupted Maud smoothly.

He blinked. "Why, the Society for the Rescue of Women and Children, of course."

There was a moment of silence before Maud spoke knowingly. "Ah, there you have it. You are too little acquainted with the city, Thomas. Sue and I are with the, um … the Society for the Protection of Poor Wayward Girls."

Wayward girls? I rolled my eyes, and even Maud grimaced at her invention as soon as she said it. I thought she could have done better than that.

"Have you not heard of our good works?" she asked with a hopeful air, and I'm sure she would have winked at me if she could. Actually, who knows; perhaps there really was a Society for the Protection of Poor Wayward Girls. There seemed to be one to protect everything in those days; the Poor, the Rich, Dogs, Horses, probably even Rats if you looked hard enough. The do-gooders handed out pamphlets everywhere you looked. Thomas couldn't know it was a sham. He even gave Maud a half-hearted nod, like he felt that any good Christian at least ought to have heard of all our good deeds. It was shameful, really, the way we teased him. We were like cats, Maud and I, cruelly toying with a mouse who could not escape.

"It's an advantage, ain't it, being girls, when you have to meet … them?" inquired Thomas awkwardly. "What I mean is, I think your Society figures it's better to send girls 'cause there's no chance of … you know."

Maud smiled reassuringly at him. "I know exactly what you mean, Thomas; being a woman is a great advantage towards understanding girls like that."

I started to find Maud looked at me as she said it, and I could not help but blush, which made her smile at me, so to hide my cheeks from her I turned to Thomas. "Well, what happened with those girls?"

"I'll tell you, Miss" he said carefully. "But I'd be ashamed to have my actions mentioned to the Society. They aren't becoming a good Christian. You see, when I first layed eyes on those girls, I thought they ought to have welcomed the chance of being Depauperised, (at least that's what the Reverend told us to expect), but when I asked them they laughed at me and said I have it all backwards; that it's the workhouse that keeps me a pauper and that what they do earns them a pretty penny. So I told them that what they earned was naught but the Wages of Sin"

"'Wages of sin?' said the one to me. 'Why, Alice and I will have you on for nothing just to show you how charitable we can be to a poor boy like yourself.'"

Thomas' cheeks burned scarlet against the pallor of his face as he recollected the encounter. "Then they took me by the arm and tried to lead me away with them. But I pulled myself free of them and so the one named Alice said to me, 'Oh now, don't be like that, sir. I've been with a Parson just yesterday, so how can you call it sinning?'"

"'Sinning? Naw!' cried the other one. 'He's made us more Holy, get it? Hole-ee!'"

Thomas turned his face away at the recollection, which is just as well, 'cause I almost laughed out loud at the tart's joke. In his pathetic state he bowed his head, and I saw his paper collar had come loose from his shirt, and I stifled the urge to fix it.

"I'm not the Reverend, but an ordinary sinner," he said sadly. "I'd not the courage to put the weakness of my flesh to the test, so I ran from 'em, and became lost in this evil place."

"You must think I'm a fool," he added, looking up.

"Why, not at all," said Maud, suddenly all solicitous.

Well, maybe not a fool, but he was as dull as anyone outside a church. Actually, judging by what the prostitute told him he was even duller. But then again, whenever I looked at his eyes I could tell he was sharper than he made out, he was just unfamiliar with the world; like a babe.

"Just how long have you been in that workhouse?" I asked suddenly.

"How long?" he raised his brows questioningly. "Why, I've been there my whole life."

Maud and I looked at each other. _His whole life?_

"Surely, Thomas, they taught you a trade in that time, something to do to earn a living once you leave there," said Maud.

He frowned. "A trade? I can shape a block of stone, if that's what you mean."

"Lord!" I cried. "Did you hear that, Maud? They've got them breaking rocks? That's what they force convicts -"

"It's not just breaking rocks," he said in his defence, and his eyes implored each of us in turn. "We're making paving stones… and other things. Why, the very road we're on might have been fashioned by me in part."

"But you're not a prisoner!" I declared loudly. "I mean, surely, once you've mastered it some of you must be allowed to leave on your own accord, if only to make something of yourselves?"

"Yes," he bobbed his locks up and down. "The Reverend says we can be apprenticed out if asked-"

"_Can_ be," I scoffed. "But are you? Are any of you?"

"Course we are ….well, not many. I mean a little," he looked askance. "You see, there not much call for my skills out side of-"

"Then, is there no hope of you leaving?" interjected Maud who leaned over my shoulder to address him. Thomas' hands fretted and he shrank back into the corner of the carriage like he was scared that Maud and I were about to tear into him.

Yes, but… but," he exclaimed. "But you've missed the point, you have; both of you! I've made something of myself already! I have become Industrious. I've been taught to read. Ain't that something? The Reverend says we must give up the sin of idleness before all other things. Where is the goodness in Liberty if it is wasted in idle corruption?"

"The Reverend!" I mocked.

He shook his head irritably and looked away. I gave a sigh. What a load of old nonsense, I thought. But it wasn't really his fault, I supposed. It wasn't as though he was witless at all; it was all on account of that bloody workhouse he lived in. It was as cracked a place to be in as ever the madhouse was, and in like fashion, the longer you stayed, the more you came a part of the place, 'til you became cracked as well. It was enough to make you shudder.

"We're here," Thomas said dully.

"Already?" Maud looked up in surprise. Our hackney had just turned a corner dominated by a tall faceless warehouse of sorts. I noticed that the air had taken on a queer colour; like it was getting late, or perhaps it was on account of the building beside us blotted out what little daylight there was, it was hard to tell with the fog. Under a muttered command from the cabman the steady clopping of the horse became an uneven clatter and then was stilled as we drew up to the pavement. Seen from the front, what we thought was a warehouse was obviously the workhouse itself, but I had expected it to look like some sort of factory, or some other such center of bustling activity, rather than the silent and brooding place we found ourselves before.

It was a tall brick building of fearsome proportions; just brick walls that were unadorned in any way, except for the front, which was built around a raised pillared portico that was reached by a wide sweep of steps. Huge iron gaslights were hung beneath the portico by thick chains. It were these that burned so bright they cast a lurid glow beyond the steps and onto the pavement, even to the side of our carriage. It was a lonely place. I heard horses on the street behind us, and the sound of voices from the pavement on the other side, but noticed no one dared to pass before the workhouse itself, and that emptiness only made the place seem more fearsome than perhaps it really was, and the three of us, in comparison, seemed much smaller.

Without a word Thomas rose and, without even a backwards glance at us, stepped down to the pavement. I guessed I might have made him angry at me; I hadn't meant to. I swallowed and looked to Maud, but she dropped her eyes to her lap with a shrug. I told myself that I should just let him go, sulk or no sulk, but another part of me thought it was wrong to leave him like that, without even saying goodbye, after what he'd done for us.

I opened my mouth and tried to think of something to say. "Christ, how big is this place? I can't even see where it ends."

"It holds many hundreds of us," said Thomas sombrely, without turning. He had stopped to brush off what muck he could that had dried on his trousers and jacket, and then started walking toward the workhouse. On an impulse I started up and clambered down after him, almost snaring my skirt on the carriage step as I struggled to lower myself.

"Sue!" I heard Maud cry behind me.

"Thomas, wait!" I called to him, somewhat breathlessly. He stopped not far away and only half turned to me. The glare of the great gas-lights behind him threw his face into shadow, but I thought I saw a reflection from his eyes, watching me.

"I've got to go," he said. "The curfew has passed."

I was afraid I might scare him off for some reason, so I halted before I got too close. I tried to think of something to say. Something to draw him back.

"Listen," I called to him. "What if there was a place… a country place, far from the city. Would you go?"

"Sue?" I felt Maud behind me and her hand settle on my shoulder and looked at her solemn face. She must think I'm mad, I thought. To tell the truth, I hardly believed my own words. I wasn't sure myself what I had in mind, but like Maud said; perhaps there was more Lilly in me than I thought. Perhaps I was just beginning to realise all the things that I had inherited. And I wasn't thinking of just the money. I put my hand on hers and turned back to Thomas. He hadn't answered me, but nor had he moved away at all.

"What if I could offer you useful employment there…," I said to him.

I felt the pressure of Maud's skirt against my own, and heard her breath near my ear. "What, at Briar, Sue?"

"There's an old couple there, tending the estate all on their lonesome," I continued to Thomas. "They need a strong back about the house, and the grounds. It's quiet, but honest work."

"You mean help for the Inkers?" asked Maud. "Oh Sue, what an idea!"

My heart was racing when I turned to her and grasped her by the arms. "D'you like it, Maud? Didn't we promise Mrs Inker that we'd find someone to help with the work? Am I being daft?"

She searched my face with her eyes, but then we were interrupted by the sound of one of the workhouse doors scraping open and we saw four men emerge from it and make their way towards Thomas. Maud regarded them sceptically.

"I do not know if we can get him out of this place, or if he even wants to go," Maud opined.

"What's this house?" Thomas called out suddenly, and then stole a quick glance back toward the approaching men before taking a step back towards us and speaking quickly, before the men reached him. "I know you suppose I'm a fool for being in the workhouse, but why should this house you speak of be any better? Who's to say I'd like it there?

"I think you would find it very much to your liking," said Maud quietly, as she took my hand in hers.

Thomas frowned. "The Master there; mightn't he be a bad man, and ill use me? What's the place called, and who's the Master there that you suppose I'd prefer over the Reverend?"

I looked at Maud sheepishly. I was almost afraid at what she must have thought of me, inviting the first person we met in London back to Briar with us. I was sure she supposed me mad. But Maud searched my face once more and must have found there a little of what I thought I detected in myself, something of the legacy of Marianne Lilly herself. Maud drew herself close to me and I felt her breath on my ear and her hand move tenderly up my arm.

"Go on, Sue," she whispered, and I felt the hand gently nudge me toward him. "I am not your mistress any more; quite the contrary."

I wanted to kiss her, then and there, but resisted the impulse and turned my head to Thomas and called out. "The place is called Briar…and I would be your master!"

He stared at me, dumbstruck and open-mouthed, and Maud and I almost laughed aloud to see the look on his face.

I don't know whether they were inmates there, or were employed by the workhouse to watch over those who lived there, perhaps there was no such distinction among them; but the four men from the workhouse were similarly dressed in dark dungarees and short jackets, of the same dark material, worn over their shirtsleeves, like a uniform of sorts. They wore no collars, and had simple cloth caps on their heads, with the exception of one who wore an old and battered topper. He walked with a swaggering gait that made me dislike him on sight.

Everything happened so quickly then. At a signal from the man in the topper, the other men seized Thomas by the arms, even though Thomas made no effort to resist them, and began to take him back the way they had come. Maud started forward, but I held her back, for fear that she might be harmed. Instead I called to the men and bid them stop, but they ignored me completely. The one in the topper sneered at us.

"Go on… be off with you!" he said and waved dismissively before he turned to follow the others through the door.

Thomas said nothing but simply looked back impassively at the two of us as much as he could while they took him. Then the heavy door scraped closed and we heard the bolt being thrown from the inside. With a great clang, they were gone. The pavement before the workhouse was empty once more, and the sound of the carriages on the street went on unaltered, quite unaware that the boy had been snatched from right under our noses.

I looked back toward the street, to where I could just make out our hackney through the mists. For a second I had the desire to run and fetch the cabman. I even fancied, for a fleeting moment, that he might bash down the workhouse door for us and force them to give Thomas up. What was I thinking? As if he didn't witness children being snatched, women beaten down and thieves running right across his path every day; so much so that he must have learned long since that it was not worth risking his neck for; and likely he was appealed to so often for aid that he had become hardened to every request. This was London after all.

Maud put a hand to her head. "What do we do?"

"We must find someone in charge!" I started toward the door but Maud hesitated.

"C'mon, Maud!" I cried.

"But what will we say? What can we offer him now?" she fretted. "We haven't even met the lawyer yet. We have no money, Sue. Nothing yet."

I stopped in my tracks. I stared at her, and felt a weight like lead creeping into the pit of my stomach. She was right, of course. Until we got the money we were as poor as, well… poor as workhouse girls. I let out a huge and deflating sigh.

"Dammit all," I swore.

Then we heard a woman speak from behind us.

"Can I help you, dears?"

We were both surprised, Maud and I, for this woman had come up on us as silent as a ghost. She was making for the workhouse from the street where our carriage waited. Actually there was a pair of them, for the woman had a maid of sorts with her. At least I thought she was a maid, for she wore a plain dark muslin dress that fell straight down from her hips, and over it was a white pinafore like a servant might wear. Even her head was plain, for she wasn't even allowed a hat, and her hair was mostly hidden beneath a small stiff bonnet. On second thought, it occurred to me then that, like Thomas, she might also be an inmate of the workhouse, and that her clothes were a uniform of sorts. However, it was the other, older, woman who commanded our attention, and there was no mistaking her for a workhouse girl.

She was a large woman- at least I think she was; she did make me feel small around her. At any rate the air of superiority she put on when she looked at us said in no uncertain terms that she really didn't want to help us at all. She had only turned her head to us; the rest of her being poised in mid-step, and it was plain from her expression that only politeness made her pause to address us, and that by the time she reached the workhouse door she would have forgotten us entirely. We were beneath her notice and, though I'm ashamed to admit it, I felt so cowed that I had to fight the urge to curtsey to her.

She was wearing the most elaborate dress you've ever seen; with a bodice richly embroidered with what looked liked gold and her full skirt was made of a dark-coloured silk with many layers of flounces in that style you don't see anymore. I hoped for her sake she wore a crinoline beneath it, for I'd hate to think of how many petticoats would be required to hold a thing like that up. Over it she wore a dark cape with more elaborate embroidery, but the lining was silken, and in a purple I'd never seen before on any cloth. I bet he dress alone would fetch a King's ransom. I judged her to be about Mrs Sucksby's age, if Mrs Sucksby was alive to tell, though she did not look to have the softness of skin Mrs Sucksby had. This woman had painted her cheeks, to hide her wrinkles I guessed, and her lips were rouged as well, to make them look fuller, but did nothing to hide the frown she wore for us.

Maud reacted first. "Good day madam. Do you know who runs this establishment?"

Maud's voice made me look at her, for there was a catch in it that told me that even she was not immune to this woman's presence, though in her clean white blouse Maud looked every inch a Lady herself. I looked back and caught the woman was looking hard at me, and when I thought of how wretched my own clothes must look the heat in my cheeks made me silently curse myself.

The woman gave her maid a pained look, and then frowned at Maud once more. "What is your business here, girl?"

_Girl_, the woman called her. She had a ripe, mannish voice of the type that was used to giving orders. If it was just me I might have pardoned her rudeness, but with Maud standing beside me the woman's lack of civility made my bile rise and I was about to say something equally rude back when I caught her maid out of the corner of my eye give me a warning shake of her head from behind the woman's back and such was the pleading look in her eyes that I held my tongue. The woman must have caught something in my eyes 'cause she looked suspiciously over her shoulder but by that time the maid was staring at her shoes.

"There is a young man here," Maud replied. "He rendered us a great service today, and we would like to inquire after him, but we do not know where to go, or who to direct our inquiry to."

The woman directed her narrowed eyes back toward Maud, making the ostrich feathers of her broad hat dip and peck at her shoulder like the bird was still alive. Maud stood meekly under the woman's continued scrutiny.

"The Reverend Moorehead is the Director here," the woman intoned. "I am Mrs Moorehead. We do not encourage any contact between our members and… those outside."

My ears pricked. So, I thought, this was the famous Reverend who Thomas is so enamoured with.

"Thomas saved our lives!" I declared. "P'raps the Reverend should let the inmates out more oft-"

"Thomas," Maud interrupted tactfully, "… saved us from being robbed by a man posing as a hackney driver who took us to some alleyway near here. Then the boy saw to it that we got out of that neighbourhood without being further troubled. He put himself in harms way so that we could escape."

The woman stared, and her features softened. "Rescued, you say, by one of our own members?"

"His name is Thomas," said Maud and then she looked at me for assistance. "Thomas…?"

"Brie… Bridle, I think," I offered. It was on the tip of my tongue. "No… Bodle, he said!"

"Yes, that was it," Maud smiled appreciably. "The reason we are here is that we hoped that there is a way he can be employed outside of the-"

"Did he give a reason for his actions?" the woman demanded eagerly.

"A reason…?" Maud looked puzzled.

I snorted. "I remember. Said it was his Christian duty, or something."

"Did he now?" Mrs Moorehead smiled, ignoring my sarcasm, and turned to her maid.

"Won't the Reverend be pleased when he hears this?

"Yes, ma'am," the girl replied perfunctorily, but nothing, it seemed, could put a damper on Mrs Moorehead's mood. She was suddenly all kindness to us.

"You must allow me to introduce you two to the Reverend Moorehead," she said to Maud, as more of an order than an offer. "He must know how virtuously our member behaved."

"But what about Thomas?" I entreated her. "He was only late cause of what he did, and got himself hauled off in front of us by four bullies from in there. What will happen to him cause of it?"

My questions, however, didn't warrant a glance from the woman; rather she turned to speak to her maid. Exasperated, I reached out to get her attention but Maud stopped me.

"What?" I asked sharply.

"Sue," she spoke quietly. "Perhaps we should settle our affairs at the lawyer first. Then we shall know where we stand in terms of the money. Maybe the lawyer could make inquiries about Thomas on your behalf. I'm sure he must have some experience in these matters."

I stared. It's amazing how Maud can always make everything clear to me. I nodded to her just as Mrs Moorehead turned to us.

"We cannot stay, Mrs Moorehead," announced Maud. "We have a carriage waiting for us."

She frowned irritably. "Have it wait, then."

"We have an appointment," Maud insisted.

Mrs Moorehead made a dismissive gesture with her glove. "Won't it wait for an hour?"

"Perhaps, but the cab; we do not… we-" she appealed to me.

"We don't have enough money to keep him waiting," I admitted.

"Oh that," she gave a condescending smile. "I will tell Hudson to pay your driver-"

"We cannot allow-" began Maud, but Mrs Moorehead held up a hand.

"Nonsense; Hudson will take you himself in my carriage after we are done. You will join me for tea of course."

"Thank you," I said without thinking. Maud looked surprised but I just gave her a shrug. I was famished after all.

"Then it's settled. Letty, have the Matron look after them. Then bring them to the parlour."

"Yes ma'am," Letty said with a bob of her head, and without another word Mrs Moorehead went toward the street to find the man Hudson. Maud and I looked at each other and I shrugged again.

"Will you follow me please," said Letty and led the way to the workhouse.

She took us not to the door through which Thomas had been taken, but led us to another one that looked like any normal door a house might have.

"Is it really your intention of freeing Thomas?" she said the words suddenly, without turning her head, and it took us a moment to realize she addressed us.

"It is," I answered shortly.

Letty raised her hand to knock on the door but first took a quick look for her mistress before she looked at me.

"Then it was wise of you not to press the Missus too much on the subject," she said while hardly moving her lips; then after a second, "…or the Reverend for that matter."

I opened my mouth but she knocked, and we were immediately admitted into a wood-panelled hall by an oldish man. He wore corduroy trousers and waistcoat, like Thomas' 'best', but over them he had on a fine worsted frock coat. Perhaps, I wondered, he was a domestic servant rather than an inmate. He gave a slight nod to Letty. Maud and I he ignored.

"Wait here a moment. I must speak to the Matron," Letty said stiffly and left through a door that she closed behind her. Her feet were silent on the carpeted floor.

We were left alone to take in our first glimpse of the inside of a workhouse, and I think I can speak for Maud when I say that it was not what either of us had expected.

"Look at it all, eh Maud?" I said quietly, feeling the doorman's eyes on my back.

Maud nodded and gazed with me at the large portraits hung from the dark oiled-wood panelling, and the large vase that held an enormous display of fresh flowers. The carpet was Chinese and looked like silk. Gas-lights hissed softly inside cut glass lamps.

"Now if only the madhouse was like this I might not have minded it as much," I said as straight-faced as I could, and was rewarded when Maud gave me a sour look..

"But this place is more like Briar," I added.

"No," said Maud, squinting at the detail in a painting. "It is much finer."

We straightened at the sound of the door, and saw Letty poke her head in.

"Please come," she said simply and stepped back into the room beyond.

Beyond the door the floor was of cut stone, as well as the walls. It was of such stark contrast to the hall that I was almost afraid to go. Inside, I saw it was just a corridor with doors set in the wall at regular intervals. The gas lights on the walls were uncovered, and their naked flames jumped like torchlight.

I saw Letty standing at attention beside another woman who I thought must be the Matron. The Matron wore something similar to what Letty was wearing, but with the addition of a grey jacket that bore a silver watch-chain and a ring that held many large keys. She was larger than Letty, who had a slight build, and wore her dark hair pulled tight beneath her bonnet. She reminded me so much of the madhouse nurses that I shuddered and moved closer to Maud.

"It's alright, Miss," assured Letty.

"Letty," said the Matron a touch sharply. "See that the tea is made ready."

"Yes, Matron," she said dully, and returned to the hall, but not before she gave us a warning look as she passed, indicating the Matron with her eyes.

"Follow me, please," ordered the Matron.

We followed her silently, with Letty's silent warning on our minds. The corridor was long and our footsteps echoed against the bare walls, but we had not gone far before the Matron stopped by a door and threw it open so sudden that I felt Maud jump at my side. Light from the room spilled onto the Matrons sharp features, and I saw her narrowed eyes take in the room like she expected to catch someone there doing something naughty.

We followed her into a small plain room, fashioned from the same stone as the corridor. Maud and I exchanged glances once more, for we still did not know what to make of this strange place, and moved close together. Inside we saw two girls who were standing stock still, waiting by a heavy scrubbed table upon which buckets had been set along with bottles of different sizes. The Matron scanned the table, and then looked at the girls carefully. The girls bore the inspection stoically. They were dressed identically, like Letty, but I guessed they must be workhouse girls; one of them must have been quite a few years older than me, or at least just looked more care worn. She was missing teeth, and the hair that showed beneath her bonnet was poor and wiry. The other was more my age, but her hair was a flaming shade of red and beneath it her skin was dark and covered by a swarm of freckles. Both of them looked straight ahead until the Matron nodded grudgingly, whereupon they gave her a small curtsey together. Seemingly satisfied, the Matron addressed me and Maud.

"Polly and Esther will get you prepared. I'll come back to take you to the Reverend and Mrs Moorehead."

When she left the room I listened hard, almost expecting to hear the sound of her keys locking us in, but we were not locked in. A sigh from one of the girls drew my attention back to the room. The two girls seemed as if released from a trance.

"Is she gone, Esther?" the freckled girl asked tremulously.

The older of the two cocked her head by the door and smiled. "Aye."

"Thank God Almighty," she noticeably relaxed and moved lazily to the table where she dragged one of the buckets to the fireplace where a pot of water had been kept hot over the fire.

"I swear old boot-jack's got it in for me," she said as she tipped some water into the pail.

"Don't be daft, Pol; she's got it in for us all," Esther declared and picked at the skin of her hand.

I stared at them like they were statues come to life.

"Hand me that bottle, eh," said Polly wagging a hand from where she knelt by the fire.

"What?"

"C'mon! She'll come back you know, and if we ain't got started…" she trailed off warningly.

Esther pushed herself away from the wall grudgingly. "Yeah alright."

She cast a cool glance at me and Maud. "What's the bloody rush. By the look of 'em it's going to take a while."

I swallowed nervously, and felt Maud take my hand. I wasn't sure what we were doing there. Where was Mrs Moorehead, I wondered? I had a queer feeling in my stomach. Thomas' capture, the peculiar people, and Letty's odd warnings had so thrown me that I found I did not know what to say anymore.

"Not that one, stupid," chided Polly, "…the one with the vinegar."

"You might have said, fuss-pot," retorted Esther.

"Just guard the door, alright?"

The older one leaned by the door and regarded us dispassionately. With a sudden sense of unease I thought that perhaps there was a misunderstanding. Perhaps they imagined that Maud and I were here to be-… what had Thomas called it… depauperised. Maybe Esther guarded the door to keep me and Maud from bolting, so that they could force us into their coarse and shapeless garments? I gripped Maud all the harder.

"What is it Sue," Maud whispered.

Before I could answer Esther hissed, and immediately Polly stood up expectantly and looked toward the door. Both of them hurriedly straightened their clothes and checked their bonnets and then waited. For a second I heard nothing, but then faint steps echoed in the corridor outside. Esther smiled and slouched against the wall once more.

"It ain't her."

The door handle rattled and Letty entered the room. She regarded me and Maud gravely before she confronted the others.

"What've you two bin doing?" she cried, and I was surprised to hear her raise her voice.

"Why, just what old boot-jack told us," said Polly defensively, pointing to her bucket.

"Keep it down, for God's sake!" hissed Esther.

Letty exhaled noisily and came quickly to where Maud and I stood holding on to one another.

"But you've kept our guests standing here this whole time?"

"Well," griped Esther, pointing. "Chairs are right 'ere. I ain't stopping 'em."

Letty looked annoyed. "You've not made them welcome either! See, you've scared them half to death. Didn't you explain what we're doing?"

Polly and Esther looked at each other awkwardly and shuffled their feet.

Letty rolled her eyes, and then seemed to collect herself before reaching out to take each of our hands in hers. She gave us each in turn a bashful kind of smile. It was hard to believe this was the same girl as before.

"Come over by the fire where it's warmer. Don't be frightened," she laughed lightly in a disarming way and pulled us gently closer to the table near the fireplace, where we were introduced properly.

"Look, we have warmed water and a hot iron set there to get your clothes looking bright again."

"You're going to wash them?" Maud asked?

"What d'you think we were going to do," asked Polly incredulously, "…lock you up?"

Esther cackled and I blushed.

"Enough!" cried Letty over her shoulder, "Don't pay them any heed, Miss. It's not been so very long since they were on the outside."

"In the world," Esther said wistfully.

"The grave more likely; you were half-dead when they brought you," Letty retorted severely and then softened. "Let's have that skirt, Miss Maud. Don't worry, the fire is hot. Your's too, Miss Susan; for you came off the worse for your adventures."

Soon we were sitting half naked before the fireplace, me in my chemise and petticoat, Maud in her blouse, with just her stockings and pantalettes to cover her. If it was Briar, or any place where we could be private, I might have been contented, but I felt so uncomfortable there under the full gaze of these girls, with Maud so close and laid so bare. I clutched my hands together in my lap, for I felt sure that I would faint if I touched Maud's underthings. I tried to think of other things, so I watched Polly and Esther's hunched shoulders as they worked on our garments that were spread over the table.

"Most of that will come off with vinegar," I heard Polly mutter to Esther. "That looks like grease; use the ox-gall and hot water to take that out. The lavender water will remove the smell after."

"Polly used to have a situation," Letty explained. "She can do wonders."

"May I ask a question?" asked Maud.

"Of course."

"Why did you warn us not to ask Mrs Moorehead about Thomas?"

Letty bit her lip in thought and leaned closer. "When you met him, did he say anything about what he does here?"

I snorted. "He said he was breaking bloody rocks to make roads."

She nodded slowly and her face grew serious. "It you care at all about the boy it would be best if you didn't make it known that you had spoken to him at all at any length. I suspect that's why the Missus wants to have you to tea."

"I don't understand," I said. "I thought they'd be pleased as punch to have one of the inmates taken off their hands at someone else's expense. Isn't that what a workhouse is supposed to be for?"

"Inmates!" cackled Esther to Polly in the background. "She's got that right enough."

Letty ignored her, but lowered her voice. "Maybe some of them. Perhaps all the rest. Things are not what they seem here."

"What do you mean?" whispered Maud.

"Once this place was like any other workhouse. A hard place, but no one stayed long, and it was possible to learn a bit of a trade for those so inclined. Then the Reverend Moorehead took possession of it. The Reverend has many friends in Government. Years ago his friends granted him the contract to manufacture the stone setts used for the public roads, and he turned over a great portion of the workhouse to do nothing else but cut the stones. He needs not worry about getting workers to cut them, for the parish sends him orphans, like Thomas, and he raises them to be his labourers, and puts such a fear of the world in them that they might never want to leave. If ever they get a notion to leave, no time is wasted in finding fault with them, and having them punished by laying more work upon them. He never wants them to leave, ever. I think he and the Missus are afraid that people will find out."

"We might find out how rich he's getting from being a such a charitable man." I added, thinking of the decorations we saw in the hall, and Mrs Moorehead's fine clothes. Letty nodded.

I saw Maud still looked sceptical. "But Thomas said they had willingly let him out. If what you say is true, why would they take that risk?"

"Thomas is special," Letty said. "I was told he was brought here as an orphan when he was but a baby. Thomas truly believes this is the only place in the world that is not wicked, so they've been letting him out to see outside for himself and tell the others like him what he sees."

"Not hard to see a bit of wickedness in this neck o' the woods, eh?" Esther called out.

"A little bit less, now that you're in here," commented Letty dryly. I heard Esther cackle once more.

"Poor Thomas," I muttered. "Bred like a farm animal for useless toil. Is there no way to get him out then?"

"Not by asking the Reverend," Letty warned. "I don't trust what he may do to Thomas if he thought he might be exposed."

"Letty's sweet on the boy," Polly said to more of Esther's laughter.

"I'm not," she retorted, and then said quietly. "I just care what happens."

I saw Letty's cheeks redden and she dropped her eyes. There was a short silence.

"Letty?" I asked. "Why do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Stay. It don't look like you believe all that prattle the Reverend preaches; and it don't seem like you're under lock and key either."

"I'm poor," she smiled shyly and then looked over at the others at the table with something like fondness. They had the iron going now on my skirt. Polly was showing Esther how it's done.

"Someone has to look after them," she said softly before she returned her gaze to me and Maud. "Not everything is bad here, despite what you've seen, Miss Susan; there is light work for the Reverend's household, and some members get selected to help out with looking after the others in the infirmary or the nursery. The Missus trusts me some, and lets me suggest who gets the household positions."

"Letty's our guardian angel," declared Polly. There was a grunt of agreement from Esther.

Letty looked mildly annoyed. "Aren't you finished yet? The Matron will come soon to collect them."

"Another minute and it'll be dry," said Esther feeling Maud's petticoat that was hung near the fire.

Letty turned back to us. "Well, we are almost done."

"Thank you very much for all your kindness toward me and Sue," offered Maud.

Letty shook her head. "I just wish I could help you get Thomas out of here, …unless."

"Unless what?" I asked. Letty looked thoughtfully at the floor and Maud leaned forward with me.

She shook her head once more. "It's nothing. I couldn't imagine you would want to, but listen to this: For a while now the Missus has me sorting her mail; she gets ever so much. She is petitioned by everyone these days… the Society for this or that-"

"The Society for the Protection of Poor Wayward Girls?" I suggested.

She frowned. "I've not heard of that one. Anyway, I came across a letter from one of the Reverend's acquaintances, agreeing to the price placed on the transfer of members from here to a manufacture in another part of the city."

Maud furrowed her brow. "The Reverend… he actually…?"

"Yes," lamented Letty. "It appears he sells our members to the factories of his friends. As if he weren't rich enough already. It was quite a sum he received. I can't imagine they're treated any better than here."

"So you think we might-" I began.

She thrust her hand out. "Oh no! I couldn't imagine you asking such a thing of the Reverend. Imagine, bartering for human flesh. I just thought that if there was a way, it might only be possible by appealing to his pocketbook rather than his sympathy."

I nodded, and then noticed Maud giving me a knowing look, and I suppose she had in mind the same thing that I had; that this was a perfect sort of thing for Mrs Sucksby's lawyers to perform. All a sudden I was anxious to be out of there in spite of my hunger. I looked impatiently to the table, but they seemed to have already finished.

Esther brought Maud's things over to me and gave me a gap-toothed smile. "D'you want the honour, Miss?"

"Thank you," I said warmly, and then I said it again even louder cause, astonishingly, there wasn't a trace of muck on her skirt, and even her white petticoat came out perfectly clean at the hem.

"Look Sue, it is just like new. In fact I've never seen it looking so nice," Maud said, and then put her hand to her mouth. "Oh Sue, forgive me! I know you try your best when you press it."

I laughed with Letty, despite my chagrin, and Polly wore a proud smile.

Those girls seemed to have a special sense for the Matron's presence. One minute I was thanking them all again for making me look like a Lady, and the next they had all jumped to attention and were checking each other's uniforms and tucking in stray bits of hair. In the midst of the confusion Esther pressed a pewter flask into my hand.

"Quick, drink some of that. It'll put the colour back in your face, poor thing."

I sniffed the brandy before I took a healthy sip and thrust it back at her. Lord was it ever strong! Maud steadied me while I nearly choked.

Polly winked at me. "We keep it in the infirmary; for medicinal purposes only of course."

I smiled through my tears. "One question; why do you call the Matron 'boot-jack'?"

"Because," cackled Esther, "she always looks like she got one stuck up her ba-"

"Esther, really!" admonished Letty. "These are ladies you're speaking to."

We all had a laugh anyway, and I never forgot that little sunny oasis that Letty had created in the midst of that dreadful place. She was a dear.

By the time the door was thrown open the three of them were lined up dutifully against the wall, straight as ramrods with their eyes front and center. The Matron eyed them icily and then let her gaze rove over the room, on the lookout for anything amiss, before it settled on Maud and I.

"Come, I'm to take you to the parlour now."

As Maud and I filed out in the wake of the Matron, Letty risked a small smile to send us on our way.

In the corridor we followed the Matron. Our feet beat in unison on the stone floor, and I broke stride purposefully just to keep my steps at odds with the Matron's. She was an odd one all right, I thought, while watching the back of her head. Seen from that angle, her black hair was done up tight as anything, and even the little wisps that everyone else lets fall to the nape had not been allowed to escape her bonnet. I felt Maud's fingers brush my hand and looked at her. She gave me a tight smile back and I quickly clasped her hand with mine. I think what we had learned from Letty had given us both second thoughts about meeting the Reverend. The Matron stopped by a door and knocked.

"Come," I caught the distinctively deep voice of Mrs Moorehead.

The Matron opened the door but did not enter herself, only standing to one side to let us pass. "The girls you wanted to see Ma'am."

Maud ventured to go first and then I. When I passed the Matron and crossed the threshold of that room I felt warm air on my face that smelt of leather and perfume and the faintly greasy smell you get from the gas-lights. Inside, it was a large room, and we had but a moment to take it all in before Mrs Moorehead rose from a deep chair and came across the room to greet us.

There was an extravagance of gas-lights mounted on the walls, each like the heavy ones that hung outside but in miniature; but the room was by no means bright. The wainscoting was in the same dark panelling as we found in the hall, and above it the walls were covered in fabric patterned in broad red and gold stripes. They had a shine like silk that tempted you to touch them. Paintings were hung profusely, most of them depicting hunting scenes. I remember them distinctly because in every one of them there was one figure that seemed to peer out directly at the viewer. It gave me the uncomfortable feeling that I was being watched. There were cabinets of porcelain figures too, and also many others containing books that looked very fine. Maud looked at me significantly. There was no question but that the Reverend lived very handsomely off the labours of his workhouse.

"My dears," said Mrs Moorehead with her hands extended, quite like we were old friends. She didn't mention the work done to our clothes; perhaps it was out of politeness, or maybe what the servants did was beneath her notice. "Allow me to introduce you to the Reverend Moorehead."

We were led to where the Reverend sat with his back toward us in one of the high-backed leather chairs that faced the fireplace. His wife stopped in front of him and bade us come near. I was curious about what he looked like. I couldn't see him at first, the sides of the tall chair obscured his face, but as I came round in front I saw his mostly grey hair come into view, followed by a straight and prominent nose framed by large grey whiskers and his Reverend's collar. Otherwise his face was shaved smooth. He was absorbed with a book, or else he was just pretending not to notice us right away.

"My dear, here are the young ladies I want you to meet."

He looked up at us and I was startled by his eyes. They were a greyish blue and very bright, like they had an inner light all their own. Maybe reading the book was just an act so he could spring this surprise on Maud and I. Then again maybe he did this to everyone he was introduced to. He had more tricks, too. He was very spry, for he sprang up from his chair nimbly, and when Mrs Moorehead made the introductions he seemed genial enough, without the stiffness of manner his wife displayed. Perhaps he was just eager to impress, like the room and furnishings. His trousers and waistcoat were of the best worsted; better maybe than I had ever seen come through Lant Street from three score of housebreakers. The cloth had a thin striped pattern woven into the nap that could only be seen if angled to the light just right. From his pocket hung a thick gold chain; I'd bet Mr Ibbs would have given anything to see the watch at the end of it.

"My wife has told me of the unfortunate incident that befell you today, Miss Lilly. I do hope you have not sustained any injury?" he asked Maud.

Maud smiled graciously at him. "We were fortunate not to have been harmed."

"Physically maybe," he concurred, "… but no less traumatic."

Maud gave him a slow nod to concede the point. He bade us then sit on the sofa near his chair and his wife occupied an identical chair beside his. My stomach reminded me that there had been the promise of tea but my roving eyes could see no sign of it anywhere.

"It is very fortunate that one of our members was near enough to assist you, eh Miss Trinder?"

"What? Oh, yes," I said awkwardly, trying to catch up with the question. "That is, if it weren't for Thomas we might never have got out of there alive."

He nodded understandingly. "And that led you here?"

For some reason I found I was sweating into my dress. I swallowed and glanced at Maud. The Reverend, though, smiled kindly. His teeth were small and very white.

"…Because my wife and I are so glad you came. To share in the success of what we are doing here. Did Thomas explain what it is we are doing here?"

"Doing here?" I stammered, feeling trapped. "I heard… that is, he said he had been taught to be Industrious."

The Reverend smiled appreciatively and leaned back in his chair, yet his eyes still looked shrewdly at me; like the hunters in the paintings around me.

"Yes… industriousness," he mused. "One of the great virtues of our age, don't you think?"

"I suppose; but too much of anything ain't a good thing," I blurted out, mostly cause I hated agreeing with him, but then I wished I hadn't said it. The Reverend put his fingertips together and leaned towards me. His lips tightened and his gaze grew uncomfortable. He had found his quarry.

"There is a lot of humbug bandied about concerning Parish relief, Miss Trinder; do not believe all that you hear. Our members receive an education here. They are taught to read so that they may learn life's lessons without having to experience them the hard way. Have you not read any of the worthy works published by the Religious Tract Society? I find them an invaluable source of inspiration for the members here. Hesba Stretton in particular; we make her books freely available to all our members to instil them with the understanding of the values of hard work, duty and piety."

I didn't tell him I couldn't read his bloody-minded tracts, or any other thing for that matter, but I thought he could have learned a lesson in humbug himself simply by listening to his own talk.

"How can anyone learn life from books," I asked, " without the liberty to live it for themselves?"

My question made him raise his eyebrows. Actually, I surprised myself at how easily those words came to me, but I think I had thought of them long before that day.

"Liberty?" he exclaimed. "Good Heavens, we see all about us the dire consequences of the surfeit of Liberty. One has only to look past the very walls here onto to pavement outside. What has the common boy learnt from his liberty; only to make dangerous confederacies among other boys in iniquity. Once his soul has been so contaminated at a tender age there is only one course of action. It must be isolated from the corrupting influences and the bastions of his moral fortress must be built anew through hard work and moral teaching."

He sounded triumphant. What a load of rubbish it was, I thought; Was that how he justified turning Thomas into pretty much nothing more than a slave? And getting rich to boot! I didn't know what to say that wouldn't betray that I knew his dirty little secret. I opened my mouth but Maud beat me to it.

"Reverend," said Maud suddenly. "What an interesting book you are reading!"

There was a pause and I heard the Reverends breath slowly whistle out his nose before I saw him lean back once more in his chair. Maud wore a look of kindly interest, but I caught sight of her gown where is passed over her bent knee. The fabric trembled ever so slightly.

"You have an interest in books, Miss Lilly?" he asked her.

"My Unc… ," she glanced apologetically at me. "I was employed by a man who was a great collector of books, and I used to write myself."

"You wrote?" he couldn't keep a slight tone of disapproval from his voice. "On what subject?"

Maud blushed a bit but met his eye. "Novels," she said shortly. "Novels of romance."

"Pshaw!" the Reverend gasped. "Romance! I'm sorry my dear, but I have seen what is popular with the lower classes in that vein. I do hope you do not emulate Mary Braddon."

I would bet even this Mary Braddon would blush to read anything Maud wrote, and I think the Reverend might even blush too if he knew some of the names of the men who had read Maud's work. She, however, did not reply to the Reverend but sat meekly under his gaze. She did it on purpose, I knew, to keep him from questioning me, and keep me from putting my foot in my big mouth, but it riled me nonetheless to see her so baited.

"I no longer write them," Maud explained. "My interest in your book was purely in the quality of its construction."

He was taken aback a bit and looked intently at the volume that lay by his elbow. He held it up balanced on his fingertips.

"It's a first edition," he said proudly. "Elizabeth Wetherell; all the way from America. It is a valuable edition I grant you, but I don't expect you know much about it."

I saw Maud stiffen, but there was a knock at the door and it was Letty finally come with the tea. Mrs Moorehead bid us move to the other side of the spacious parlour. My hunger made me rudely rush forward and then I had to wait for the others to follow. The Reverend had gone to return the book to a nearby cabinet. Maud hung back and her eyes glittered as they followed him and I saw her nostrils flare before she spoke.

"Your edition is printed on vellum, and bound with calf," she said mechanically. "You will find it is not actually a first edition but a fake, printed here in London, at Chalmers."

I watched the Reverend give a start and stare at Maud for a moment before he rushed to the nearest gas-light and opened the book to examine the fly leaf. For half a minute he examined it and then closed it slowly and ran his fingers over the cover. For the first time I saw that his eyes had lost their sparkle.

Maud then walked towards me and could not help but flash me a small smile of triumph before we took our places near the tray. The Reverend lingered by the bookcase and I had to hide my own grin in my teacup as Maud graciously accepted a cup from Mrs Moorehead, and said in a careless way, "Did you know as well that Wetherell is just a pseudonym? Her real name is actually Susan Warner, and her books are quite popular with the common people in America."

Mrs Moorehead greeted that little piece of news by making an indeterminate sound in her throat behind her icy smile. To further sour things, I was so hungry that when the sandwiches were passed round I took far more than was polite. Then I watched Mrs Moorehouse serve Maud while I crammed my mouth full. I thought about what Letty had told us, and wondered whether it was true that Mrs Moorehead had only invited us here to find out if Thomas said anything he oughtn't to. If she did, she never let on, for by then she seemed so put out that she gulped her tea down like a lush at a four-ale tavern. As well, the Reverend didn't bother us no more now that Maud had hurt his pride, preferring to glower at us from behind the safety of his tea-cup and sandwiches. As for me, judging by the rate that Mrs Moorehead was guzzling her tea, I figured I had scant minutes to blunt my hunger on the small sandwiches, and so couldn't speak a word while I kept my mouth so full.

"Where will you be going now?" Mrs Moorehead asked, I guessed, as a way of letting us know we should hurry up. I tried to chew faster and could only nod foolishly.

Maud gave my bad manners a sideways look. "We are expected at the Middle Temple. Susan and I are to collect what was bequeathed to us by her mother."

"Ah...my condolences," Mrs Moorehead intoned in a low voice and inclined her head to me.

I shook my head and swallowed. "No, it's not like that... I never met her actually."

There was an awkward silence and I realised how bad that sounded. Maud pretended to inspect her fingernails; Mrs Moorehead looked darkly at me, and then turned to Maud to tactfully change the subject.

"I will have the Matron take you to my carriage. I hope the fog will not be..."

She began to speak at length of the weather, and the traffic on the roads, with Maud. I heard the leather of the Reverend's chair groan as he shifted towards me. He appeared not to have heard what I said, or perhaps he just had more tolerance for my manners than his wife, for he looked at me with kindly interest.

"So, you've come into an inheritance have you?" he showed his small teeth. "I hope you will not be disappointed."

I hesitated; to me his remark seemed a bit crass, almost rude, but I felt obliged to reply to it since I was trapped there with him. "I think it's quite a fortune," I told him bluntly.

He put his cup down and leaned forward with his fingertips together. His eyes shone once more with that unnatural light. "When you have it you may see things differently."

"Different… how so?" He was doing it again; smiling benevolently while his eyes seemed to be prying me apart. Maud was no help; she was still making small talk with the Missus. I felt my heart pounding again. The fire and the gaslights had made the room hot and I shifted uncomfortably on my chair.

"You spoke earlier of liberty, Miss Trinder. I know you have noble intentions. Your presence here speaks volumes about them. When I was your age I too thought of all I could do if I had my own fortune; but money is like sea-water to a ship-wrecked man; the more you drink the thirstier you become."

I must have made a sound, cause he reacted with an amused grunt.

"You scoff at me, Miss Trinder. I think I can guess what you are thinking; you suppose me a grasping man, and you think that after you have collected your inheritance you and Miss Lilly will be quite content to go on as before, unchanged by your new wealth; but I am not talking of the thirst for money."

I frowned. "I don't follow."

"I am speaking of the thirst for life; for opportunity. Certainly your fortune raises you up; but of course the higher one climbs the further one can see. The world will become a bigger place for the two of you, and one of you may develop... loftier ambitions," he insinuated and shifted his gaze a bit while the sentence hung in the air between us. He was looking at....

"Maud?" I blurted at him.

The Reverend didn't answer but simply sat back against the back of his chair and gave me an innocent look. I gathered what he was doing, and it made my teeth grind as my temper rose. Of course he had just tricked me into thinking of Maud like that. As if money would ever change how she thought of me. It was just like him, though, to get back at us like that just for being made to look the fool by Maud, but I wasn't about to listen to another word of his. I hoped his sodding collar choked him.

The Reverend was immune to the searing look I gave him, and then I heard Mrs Moorehead's cup strike the small table beside her and Maud's dress rustle as she rose. Our tea was at an end.

"I wish you a good journey, Miss Lilly; and you too, Miss Trinder," said Mrs Moorehead formally. I felt their eyes on me but hid my face from them with the pretence of looking for crumbs on my lap. When I rose, it was so close to Maud that she started.

"Let's get out of here," I whispered hoarsely in her ear, feeling the Reverend's mocking eyes on me.

Maud looked curiously at me and then at the Reverend before stepping clear of my skirt.

"Thank-you, Reverend," she said before we followed Mrs Moorehead to the parlour door.

"Good luck!" he called out and I could imagine that behind my back his lips were stretching into a sly smile over his white teeth. I didn't look back as we were led to the door.

The Matron was waiting for us outside in the stone corridor. I wondered vaguely if she had waited there like a tin soldier the whole time we were having tea. With little ceremony she silently escorted us out. The cool air of the corridor felt refreshing on my face after the closeness of the Moorehead's parlour. I looked down the corridor the other way, hoping that Letty or one of the others, were following behind us. I would have liked to thank them once more, anything to drive the Reverend's words from my thoughts.

I reminded myself that it was silly to have paid any heed to what he said. The money was going to make our life possible, not split us apart, I reasoned. After all, it might buy us amusements and good clothes, but the wearer would remain the same, wouldn't she? Won't she, I asked myself? I found the answer didn't come as readily as it should have.

"Sue?"

"What?" I noticed Maud was looking at me with concern.

"Are you alright?

"Yes, of course," I assured her. "Tea did me a world of good."

She nodded in a distracted way, but her eyes narrowed a bit also, "What did the Reverend say to you during tea?"

I opened my mouth then hesitated. I found I couldn't tell her. It wasn't that I believed the Reverend's poisonous words in the slightest; but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of repeating them and planting the seeds of doubt into Maud's head as well. Besides, there was a saying around Lant St, among the thieves and liars there; '_To say it is to make it true_.'

I tried to force a smile. "Oh you know; the same old nonsense."

Maud gave me a wry smile, and then had to stifle a laugh when we noticed the Matron's back stiffen with indignation over my remark. We followed her silently until we were outside again in the thinning and the incessant glare of the gaslights.

Despite whatever impression we had left with the Reverend or his wife, they were decent enough to have kept their word and let us have use of their carriage. The man named Hudson was still waiting for us beside it with our bags when the Matron led us out onto the pavement in front of the workhouse. The carriage was a grand thing; with graceful lines, gleaming paintwork and pulled by a matched pair of white horses. Of all things, there was even a footman in livery waiting with the driver!

I should have been more impressed by it, but I was still dwelling on what the Reverend had said to me, and that sullied the moment. God was I ever glad to get out of that place! Funny, but even though my dress had been brushed, cleaned and even pressed while I was there, I came out feeling more soiled than when we entered.

I think Maud seemed to sense there was something bothering me that I wasn't letting on, cause she nudged me playfully with her shoulder and smiled encouragingly at me.

"Remember how I said I'd like to come back to London some day and show you off to the world from a coach like this? Shall I start now?"

I shook my head. "If I recall correctly, Maud, that was a landau we saw; no one can see us in this coach."

She hooked her arm through mine and drew close enough to whisper, "Even better, then."

Maud's nearness, the warmth of her breath at my neck and the sweet curl of her furtive little smile suddenly set my pulse going stronger than Esther's brandy, and for the moment it put paid to the misgivings the Reverend had planted in my heart. I hugged her arm back and laughed, my forebodings forgotten, and made a sweeping gesture with my arm towards the coach.

"What, stay close to you and whisper? You forget, Maud, I've never been in anything so grand. I think I must hang out the window and shout to everyone we see; "_Look at me_!"

Maud's eyes grew so wide I laughed and said, "How's that for showing me off then?"

"You wouldn't!"

"Is that a dare, Maud?" I teased her.

Hudson had grown impatient by that time and cleared his throat noisily. "C'mon Ladies, I haven't got all day y'know. Here, get 'im inside, will you?"

He gestured to the footman who, in turn, tossed our bags inside and held open the door to hand us up while the driver mounted the front with a grunt. Hudson, the driver, was sensibly dressed in a long dark cloak and wide-brimmed hat. He might have worn workhouse clothes underneath for all I knew. The footman, on the other hand, wore a fancy tailed jacket of blue and gold with matching blue britches over cream-coloured stockings. Together with the coach, the setting was so regal that when he handed me up I felt like an impostor and blushed and tittered like a little girl.

"Maud, come and see!" I shouted unnecessarily as soon as I sat down.

Maud's head and shoulders appeared a moment later and I saw her eyes roam around the interior before they settled on me.

"It is very nice," she said simply and settled close beside me before we started off.

I chattered away foolishly the whole time and Maud just nodded or shook her head as required. Yes, she nodded; the ride was very smooth. No, she had never seen a coach lined with padded silk before. Yes, the seat was more comfortable than any of the furniture in Briar. On and on I went until I finally exhausted my excited talk and fell back against the seat with Maud close to me, holding my arm. She stared at me lovingly, and I noticed her eyes were almost wet.

"What?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing; I am just so happy now that you are happy, Sue. I was beginning to think we had made a mistake coming back to London."

Her solicitude caused a lump in my throat, and I squeezed her hand. "Oh Maud, if I could have nothing but your company, that would be enough for me."

"Truly?"

I snorted. "'Course! Well… that and fifteen thousand pounds, maybe."

"Oh!" she gasped and made to hit me, and I caught her hand and held it.

"Hopefully we've had our fill of bad luck, Maud. From now on we'll have our money, and we'll have all of London!" I enthused.

Maud sighed out the window at the passing grey buildings that we could see through the thin veil of mist. "I hope you're right, Sue. So far London has not been very inspirational."

"For God's sake girl; not inspire-" I exclaimed looking out the window too. Suddenly I had an idea. "Maud, what street is this? It's Drury, ain't it!"

Maud shrugged. "Do you want the map, Sue? I put it in my-"

"Never mind," I declared and moved to the door on my knees. "I know it is."

The motion of the carriage made me fumble with the window latch and I heard Maud's dress rustle behind me.

"What are you doing, Sue? Why do you want the window down? Oh, don't do that, come back!"

The window had slid down all at once and in a second I had thrust my head and shoulders out into the fetid air of the street. I felt Maud's hands tugging at my dress and chuckled.

"Come back in here!" I heard her plead.

"You're the one who dared me!" I shouted over my shoulder. The noise of the road was deafening compared to the cozy silence inside the carriage. A carriage passed perilously close to my head; I found it both frightening and exhilarating at the same time. The driver of an oncoming hackney looked queerly at me as he passed in a wink of an eye. I saw a boy on the pavement pointing at me and his mother scold him for it. I craned my neck further and caught sight of the tip of Hudson's hat up front.

"Hullo driver! Mr Hudson, please!" I shouted over the clatter of hooves and the groan of wood and harness. In the backround I could still faintly hear Maud moaning.

I watched his hat turn this way and that, before it dipped, and he finally turned towards the sound of my voice. His face then appeared around the edge of the carriage and he growled angrily.

"Miss, get inside!"

I smiled gaily at him. "Hudson, we must see the theatre here, the Drury!"

"The what?" he shouted.

"You know, the Drury. It's on the way! You don't have to stop. We just need to see it."

He considered it ruefully while keeping one eye on the road. "Alright, I'll slow down there. Now get inside, Miss!

I rewarded him with a grin. "And the other one, too?"

"What?" he asked peevishly.

I shouted back. "There's another one around the corner from the Drury. I forget what it's called."

He nodded wearily. "The Olympic, on Wych Street."

"Yes, that's it! Can you take us by there too? Please, Mr Hudson?" I pleaded in what I hoped was my most winning manner.

He gave an exasperated gasp.

"Thank you!" I called and held onto my hat while Maud pulled me back inside. As I turned, I caught sight of the startled footman looking at me from the back of the carriage. He shook his head disapprovingly at me, so I gave him a saucy wink before I fell backwards on top of Maud on the carriage floor.

"Oh! Are you mad, Sue!" she cried after heaving me off.

"Totally!" I declared a bit breathlessly from the floor. "Wait 'til you see what we'll pass by."

I stayed coyly silent while she helped me up onto our seat. She furrowed her brow in consternation.

"What is it?" she peered out the window. "What in the world were you shouting out there?"

"You'll have to wait and see," I warned her.

Maud folded her arms and pouted. "Just tell me, Sue. You know how tired I am of surprises today."

I smiled and peeled her arms back to settle myself close within them. "This'll be a surprise of the best kind."

I kept quiet, content to let the carriage carry us along Drury Lane, listening to the sound of creaking wood and the dull rumble of the road beneath us while I lay nestled in her arms, feeling the shape of her frame as the carriage moved her against me. I smiled, and she scowled at me, and was clearly torn between the desire to look out the window and look at my face for any telltale clue that we were there.

Some part of me worried that Maud might not be impressed by the Drury Theatre. I was sure whatever performance they put on would take our breath away, but I was also afraid the place itself might not convey properly the excitement that lay concealed within its walls. I needn't have been.

I saw it first out of the corner of my eye. You couldn't miss it really. It was a very tall affair made of pale stone, fashioned to look like some Greek temple out of a picture-book. What really gave it away was that our carriage slowed down and drew near the pavement. Maud released me and pressed her face to the glass.

"Look Sue!" she exclaimed. "Look at the theatre!"

We drew alongside the curb and stopped right in front of it. Maud gawped at rows of tall windows that stretched up out of sight above us and at the magnificent pillared marquee that covered the pavement almost out to the curb. Gas-lights glowed under the marquee and lit up a grand arched entrance. Fashionably dressed couples strolled the pavement in front of it, admiring the handsome building.

"Oh, someone's coming!" she said anxiously and pulled away from the window. I pulled Maud to me and took her place so I could see. It was only one of the doormen who had been stationed on either side of the entrance. Dressed up in bright red livery he looked like a soldier. He walked smartly right up to our carriage, to hand us down I think, and I opened the window just in time to hear Hudson, the driver, wave him away.

"They're just looking," he told the doorman.

The doorman nodded and was about to return to his place by the door when he caught sight of me peering through the open window. He smiled and gave a half-bow as he made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

"You are very welcome, Miss. We do hope to see you come back," he said.

"How very gallant," observed Maud from over my shoulder.

"Of course he is, Maud," I told her. "Just think what we look like to him. In this carriage you might be taken for a Duchess."

I turned back to the window and called out to him. "What's on the bill?"

The carriage gave a lurch as we began to move again, and the footman had to shout in order for me to hear him.

"Did you catch that, Maud? I couldn't make it out."

Maud furrowed her brow while she watched the theatre fall away behind us. "I think it was the name of an opera. The name was in German."

"Opera?" I groaned.

"Have you seen it?" asked Maud naively.

I snorted, "Not bleedin' likely! I heard they're a bore. Why can't they do something to laugh at that I can understand?"

I didn't tell her that I hadn't been ever inside the place, nor hardly inside any of the other great theatres in London; it wasn't part of my world. The shows I did see were only penny-gaffs, and what they did in them isn't worth repeating.

"Maybe another time," suggested Maud soothingly.

"Maybe the next one will have something better," I suggested.

"There's more?"

"Luv, there's a whole city full of 'em!" I said enthusiastically. "These just happen to be on our way. Look, we have turned now. Another theatre is just ahead."

Maud pressed her face once more to the glass with me looking over her shoulder.

"There it is," I pointed it out to Maud.

It was easy to miss it, for it could easily been mistaken for a large shop, or a grand house. The Olympic was a much smaller place than the Drury, and likewise had a pillared facade, albeit no wider than the other theatre's marquee.

"I went here once as a little girl," I said, trying to recollect my childhood impression of the place.

"Really?" said Maud as the carriage slowed down. "What kind of show was it?"

"Oh, we weren't there to see the show, just to blag-" I stopped and blushed like anything. "… I don't remember. A comedy maybe."

"You were stealing, weren't you?" Maud stated and blushed, too, and looked away.

"It weren't like that," I stammered. "I, I was just there so the older girl wouldn't be suspected."

I don't think she believed that, but it was true.

"Do you mind, Maud, that that happened?" I asked her after a moment.

Maud shook her head. "No, I don't mind, Sue. Those days are over. I was just thinking that if it were not for you, and our mothers' pact, it would have been me doing those things."

She pursed her lips and looked out the window. I gently turned her face to mine.

"Does it embarrass you, thinking of what I did back then?" I asked her tentatively, but she put her hands to her own red cheeks and laughed mirthlessly.

"Actually Sue, I am embarrassed for my own sake! You see, I worry that I would not have made half so accomplished a thief as you."

We laughed, though mine was more one of relief, and I squeezed her to me.

We returned our gaze to the theatre. To the little girl I used to be the Olympic had seemed like a large, and rather grand, place, but the theatre we saw before us was a stubby-looking thing, and the weathered wooden signboards that hung from the walls gave it an informal shabbiness. The signs announced, in peeling paper, the evening's program, and also what was promised in the future, but we were too far away to read them. It was rather a less grand place than the Drury, but also far less forbidding-looking than the other theatre; a place for ordinary folk. There was a boy outside the gates, hawking the evening's entertainment. Working men and women hurried past him and paid him no heed.

Maud must have been emboldened by my performance at the Drury, cause this time it was she who pulled the window down.

"Excuse me… boy," she called out in her sweet voice. He was a small thing, and was dressed only in shirtsleeves and braces, like that map-boy outside Paddington. He screwed up his face as he looked at our carriage, perhaps judging whether the fancy footman might have at him for daring to come near us.

"What is it? What d'you want?" he asked, bold as brass. Did I talk that way when I was his age, I wondered? I half-wished the footman would teach him some manners for addressing my Maud like that; but she was unaffected.

"Could you please tell us what's playing now?"

"Playing now? Same as last week. Fair Rosamond. Been held over 'til the end of the month. One and six, 'cept I'd expect you'll be wanting a box. That'll be a bob. Half a sec."

He darted off back to the theatre. Maud and I exchanged a puzzled look until we saw that he returned with a playbill which he handed to Maud.

"Here you are, Miss," he said and stood on his tip-toes to get a look at the inside of our carriage. "Crikey, this is a sight better than most!"

"Go on, brush off," I reached over and pushed him away good naturedly. He grinned and tipped his hat to me before stepping back as the carriage started to move again. I looked at the playbill over Maud's shoulder. It was engraved with a flowing curtain around the top and sides of the page so that the parts where the names went resembled a stage.

"What does it say?" I asked.

"The Royal Olympic presents Fair Rosamond, by F. C. Burnand," she read and raised her eyebrows to me. I shrugged, for the name meant nothing to me.

"Oh, listen to this, Sue! 'A comedy in Three Parts'," she looked at me expectantly. "A comedy, Sue. Should we try to see it while we are in London? Can we afford it?"

Her enthusiasm heartened me. "You heard the boy. It's only one and six. Unless you're too proud to sit with the common folk… that'll cost you a pretty pound for a private seat."

"That sounds expensive," she said gravely.

I grasped her arms. "Oh, what does it matter, Maud? When we have our money we'll no longer have to mind what it costs, ever!"

I felt shiver of pleasure run through her. "I cannot wait until that time when we never have to say the word, 'when', again. It seems my whole life has been wasted thinking upon, 'when'."

I pulled her tight to me once more, and spoke softly over her shoulder. "From now on, luv, everything will be 'now'."

As if on cue, we noticed that the fog had lifted and revealed towering buildings on either side of the road; but these streets were not the filthy grottos of St Giles, but clean and grand places with space enough for trees in front of some. Apartments for the rich. Places of business for bankers and lawyers; as foreign to me as they were to Maud. We drifted to the window again and Maud craned her neck in an effort to see what was ahead.

"See any more theatres Maud?" I smiled at the back of her head.

She shook her head. "A church, with a tall spire."

I squeezed beside her by the window; our cheeks touched and we fogged the glass with our breath. We had turned again onto the wide avenue that was The Strand. The church was in the middle of it, standing like an island round which a carriage must flow like water. Maud twisted her neck by the window in an effort to see the tall spire atop the steeple. The effort made her mouth hang open like a child's, and I saw her small even teeth.

"When I was little, Maud, I would stand in the middle of Blackfriers on a clear day and try to count all the church-spires I could see; but every time I did it it would come out different, 'cause there's so many you'd always end up counting some twice."

She smiled at that. Sometimes I think she envied me; my childhood. As if growing up in the Borough was something to be wished for! I nodded towards the church.

"That's St Clements, like in the song."

"The song?"

"You know; that old rhyme," I said incredulously, but she said nothing.

"For God's sake," I muttered, for I knew I would then have to sing it for her. I sat up straight and cleared my throat nervously and looked at the carriage's ceiling to try to remember the words:

_Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's._

_You owe me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's._

_When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey _

I was never one for singing, and I'm sure I sounded worse than a frog. Maud hid her mouth behind her hand, but I could see the mirth in her eyes. That made me determined to see it thru just to spite her. I looked back at the ceiling and went on doggedly.

_When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch _

_When will that be? say the bells of Stepney _

_I do not know, says the great bell of Bow _

_Here comes a candle to light you to bed _

I faltered, and couldn't bring myself to sing the next bit. Besides, I got the tune all wrong. Singing was just another in a long list of accomplishments that I was lacking as a Lady. Maud was still chuckling at my reddened face and I felt a small flash of anger.

"You already know it, don't you? You just wanted to make a fool out of-"

"I have never heard it, I promise," she assured me, but couldn't hide her smile.

"I sing horribly don't I?" I groaned.

"You sing fine," she said in that way so as not to hurt my feelings, then she grew thoughtful. "It's just I never thought of a bell saying anything but the time, and how fitting that it should be about our fortune just now."

"Our fortune?" I raised my brows at her.

Of course she had taken the line about getting rich to mean our fortune. I hadn't thought of it that way, but it made me more than ever determined to not sing the rest of it. Enough bad things had happened that day without adding to them with silly superstitions, especially with Mrs Sucksby's lawyer not minutes away.

"There's more to it, is there not?" she asked. I shook my head.

"Go on, Sue, sing it," she insisted.

"I can't remember the rest," I lied to her. "It's so long ago. Besides, the words don't even rhyme none."

Maud looked only slightly disappointed with me but I found it almost unbearable. Luckily she was diverted by the view out the window. The road had become narrower since we passed from The Strand, and the shop windows on Fleet Street were tantalizingly close to our carriage. The faint glow of gas-light from within each shop dimly lit the goods on display. Maud moved her head about to see but was frustrated by the people walking past and blocking her view. The pavement was teeming with men; clerks mostly, judging by their clothes. They were going home after a day in the courts nearby. Our carriage then passed under an arch, which someone once told me had been one of the gates of the old city, and came out in front of a place where there were no more shops, but fine tall apartment blocks made of stone and brick. We slowed and pulled up to the pavement, and I secretly watched Maud's face from behind her on the off chance she would recognise the place, but her eyes searched the scene aimlessly before they settled on me with a questioning expression

"Is this it?" she asked me. "Are we here?"

I nodded, feeling all a sudden reluctant to leave the carriage, but the carriage door was opened from the outside and the footman gestured that we were to leave. Maud was all in a rush, for it was late, and the light was failing.

"I hope Mr Butterfield has not left for the evening," she fretted and pulled Mr Dunn's letter out. "We must find Essex House; which way?"

I indicated the lane that was nearest us and we had to fight our way against the stream of black-coated clerks going the other way. I struggled along behind Maud, carrying our bags, not talking but thinking about the lawyer, and hearing the last line of that song in my head, over and over; the line I wouldn't sing for Maud, and that stupid nursery rhyme did nothing to ease the growing knot in my stomach.

_Here comes a candle to light you to bed _

_And here comes a chopper to chop off your head! _

Thank God the fog had lifted, else we might have never found the place. The cobbled lane in front of us was dark but clean, flanked on both sides by tall apartments that overhung the narrow way. It was hard enough, with darkness falling, to tell one building from the next, for they were all built together in a row, but reading the little signs and inscriptions on the doors was almost impossible without being buffeted half to death by the crowds of clerks coming out of them, desperate to be home. Even my worst glares did nothing to deter the mob from knocking into Maud, and I had to walk in front of her and make use our bags to shield us.

"Wotchit!" I exclaimed, when I was almost knocked over for the umpteenth time. "Sodding idiots. Haven't you found it yet, Maud?"

Maud put her hand to her hat and looked away from the slip of paper that fluttered uselessly in her hand to gaze helplessly at the block we had passed.

"It is not here," she moaned. "None of these say Essex on them."

"None of them?"

There was a iron gate at the end of the lane. Maud eyed it suspiciously. "Do you suppose it is through there?"

I shook my head at her. "Can't you smell it, Maud? That's the Embankment. There's naught but the river down there. Dammit, where'd they all go?"

I looked about for help but spotted only the backsides of the black frock coats disappearing far up the lane. Of all the rotten luck, but just when we needed someone the whole lot of them seemed to have vanished home to their wives and sweethearts. The only person near at hand was a boy who was lingering in a doorway, left behind in the wake of the retreating clerks. His weak eyes squinted at us from beneath a dusty cap and the effort had twisted his face into a scowl. He was just a dirty scrap of a thing, but leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets in such a lordly way you'd swear he was Gentleman himself as he might have been as a child. I figured he was sizing us up, thinking on lifting our purses or something, but he dragged his hands out and called out over the space between us.

"'Scuse me, but you the ladies come to see Mr Butterworth?"

"What of it?" I answered, and drew a look from Maud when I held her back from going nearer.

The boy waited, too tired, or lazy, to call out again. Seeing as we wouldn't come to him he gave a tremendous sigh and levered himself away from the wall and shambled over to us.

"I said, are you the ladies who is wanting to see Mr Butterworth?" he eyed us insolently.

It was my turn to look annoyed at Maud as she checked my retort with another sharp look.

"Yes we are," she replied mildly. "Do you know where we can find him?"

"'Course," he said incredulously. "C'mon."

He turned and began to walk back to where we first saw him. I looked at Maud and shrugged and we followed him to where he held the door open for us, silent except for the impatient tapping of his dirty thumb on the door handle. By then it had grown dark enough that the light inside made a yellow pool on the pavement outside. In the light I noticed the boy's jacket had been inexpertly mended in a number of places. Maud hesitated at the threshold and looked at me. I came up close to her and peered inside. The clerks had left the place deserted. Inside I saw a long corridor with doors set in the wall at regular intervals. Gas lights were mounted to the wall beside each door and their glow reflected off the polished surfaces of the floor and the wainscoting. It wasn't grand, but nor was it shabby. A working place for those who didn't have to work with their hands.

"How did you-" I began.

"He told me to look for you," he answered abruptly and began to force the door closed, making us shuffle awkwardly inside. Inside, beside the door in the corner, was a weathered stool beneath which the shells of nuts were scattered. I supposed that was where he had been waiting.

"I'll clean 'em up y'know," he glared peevishly.

Maud tried a disarming smile but he had already swept past us and made for a wide set of stairs. Our steps echoed loudly on the bare floor and on the stairs. The boy waited for us on the landing; the second floor was as deserted like the first.

"Do you work for Mr Butterworth?" asked Maud.

"I ain't a servant, if that's what you mean," he said defiantly, but softened at the hurt written on her face. "I mean, I do odd jobs for whoever. Run messages to the Bench and the like."

Maud nodded. "What is he like?"

"What? Butterworth?" he shrugged. "I dunno; bit of a nutter if you ask me."

Maud and I exchanged glances. The boy seemed to enjoy the effect and beckoned us to him importantly.

"He's not cracked, or anything," he whispered. "It's just that he's got this funny memory thing. Like he remembers everything you ever said to him. Things people done going back fifty years, an' stuff like that. Gives me the creeps to hear him. You'll see."

I opened my mouth to speak but he was already off down the corridor. Mr Butterworth's chambers were close at hand, and we had hardly caught up with the boy before he was knocking loudly on a heavy door that featured a brass plaque burnished bright and bearing the inscription, _Robinson & Butterfield, Barrister and Solicitor_.

"Mr Butterfield, Sir!" the boy called out. "They got here, finally!"

I tensed, and strained my ears for the sound of anyone coming to the door. Maud's hand found mine and gripped it, and her face looked drawn as I saw her swallow hard. All a sudden we heard the handle rattle.

I had wondered off and on, in the days leading up to that moment, what sort of lawyer Mrs Sucksby might choose for her scheme. I thought it likely she'd pick some dull clerk who would carry out any instructions with no more heed to them than if he were paying off the laundress; or, I thought he might be the crooked kind that Mrs Sucksby would've trusted with the secret she'd kept for all those years. Who knows, he might even have been in on the game from the beginning; he might have demanded a percentage in exchange for letting her and Gentleman pass Maud off as me. He might even still believe me safely out of the way in the madhouse, waiting for Maud to show up without me, to claim it all for themselves.

That was what went through my mind before the door opened and Maud, as if reading my mind, looked sideways at me.

"Remember, Sue," she whispered fiercely, with her lips all aquiver. "I never wanted any of it. Not a single penny!"

That was all she could say before the door opened, and my hand hurt she held me so fast.

The man who opened the door didn't look at all like the villain I feared he might resemble. Rather, he was short and stout, with well padded features that regarded us with as much astonishment as we regarded him. Then he broke into a grin, and his rosy cheeks almost swallowed up his eyes inside the abundant folds of his face.

"Come in my dears, come in," he beckoned us with a sweep of his arm. He backed up into a ante-chamber of sorts, and even that small effort cost him enough to make him extract a handkerchief from his waistcoat to dab at his florid cheeks.

Maud went first and I followed, looking about anxiously for any sign that things were not as they appeared; but it looked ordinary enough. There were some solid chairs set against the wall, for the clients who were forced to wait I guessed, and the wainscoting was burnished to a shine. I couldn't hear any sign that there was anyone other than Mr Butterfield about.

"Good Heavens," he said, clasping his hands, and his small bright eyes roved over us; curiously taking in our features, our dresses, in an uncomfortably lingering glance that made Maud and I squirm and shuffle close together.

"What a thing to have you here. Yes, what a thing," he continued, without giving a clue as to what that thing was. "I thought you might never come, my dears. Everyone else has left for the day, but I had a notion you would come. Yes, I did, didn't I Peter?"

"Aye, you said they'd come," declared the boy, who still lingered in the corner.

"But I mustn't leave them here standing, must I? Peter, be a good lad and take their bags. No? Oh, but you can trust young Peter here. If you had come earlier my own clerk would have been here to assist you. Quite a dashing fellow, I've heard on good account. I'm sure he would have set you at ease, but he has run off, like all the others. They are all in such a rush these days, young people, aren't they? Always have something else to do before the first thing is finished, eh?"

So he went on, without allowing either of us a word in edgewise. Despite everything Maud and I shared a smile and followed him through to the next room while he nattered on. I guessed Mrs Sucksby had gone for the dim sort of lawyer, or maybe it was just on account of old age. His voice had the dry rasp of an old man, but I would be hard pressed to pin down his age exactly. There were wrinkles, but his face might have been furrowed by humour rather than age and he kept himself well-shaved, leaving no telltale grey beard to betray his years, and even if his hair had gone grey he wore it combed flat across his head with the aid of some makassar that made it look all dark and glossy.

Through some double-doors, the adjoining room proved to be a spacious office. I took it in while the lawyer shuffled slowly ahead of us. On the far wall golden drapes had been drawn aside to expose tall arched windows that only showed our reflections; it being dark outside. To our left a coal fire glowed hot beneath a large mantelpiece that was brightly illuminated by a pair of gas-lights set in the wall. Opposite it a massive desk, flanked by bookshelves that reached to the ceiling, dominated the room. It was big enough for several people to sit at it at the same time, and chairs intended for Maud and I had already been drawn up to it.

"Oh, never mind that now," he admonished us. "Let's have a cup of tea by the fire before we get down to business. Peter here will fetch us something, won't you?"

He muttered something to the boy and gave him more schillings than I thought was prudent for such a scrap. I watched the boy hurry off, fingering the coins, and when I turned back I was irritated to find Mr Butterfield's roving eyes lingering once more over me and Maud.

"What?" I said coarsely, but he took no notice of my manners, rather he looked amused and brought his hands together.

"Good Heavens," he said. "Forgive me for staring, but this is all beyond what I expected. Come and sit down and we'll wait for that boy Peter to bring us something, eh?"

I looked at Maud. She must've been as discomfited as I was by the manner in which he spoke 'cause the both of us stood rooted to the spot beside each other. Mr Butterfield had already moved to some chairs by the fire and was halfway seated in one of them when he stood back up with a grunt.

"Bless me, my manners!" he exclaimed and came back to stand in front of us. "Of course! I haven't even introduced myself yet. How forgetful I am. I am Mr Butterfield."

He smiled encouragingly at me and I suddenly felt awkward.

"My name is Susan… Li- Lilly," I stammered, and then added unnecessarily. "Like what it says in the will."

I felt my cheeks burn and saw Maud looking kindly at me before she turned back to him.

"And I am Maud Sucksby," she stated in a clear voice.

It was my turn to stare at her. It was hard enough to say my own name, but to hear Maud! It wasn't that I'd never thought of her as Mrs Sucksby's daughter before. After all, I had months to get used to that particular idea. But I'd never seen her declare it like that, with her chin held out so, like she dared anyone to deny it. Mr Butterworth didn't bat an eye over our names; why would he?

"I'm very happy to make your acquaintance," he said formally to the both of us before resuming that curious regard of us. "…And to have you here like… this…."

He spread his arms to demonstrate that Maud and I were the '_this_', and the two of us looked baffled at one another. I wondered what he was getting at. I guessed Maud noticed it first 'cause she snatched her hand away and looked askance. It took a bit of time for the penny to drop but eventually it came to me. We had, in fact, been holding hands the whole time since we'd entered the apartment!

I felt obliged to say something, but Mr Butterworth had turned away to sit down by the fire. I pulled Maud with me to the other two chairs that had been arranged there and sat down.

"Me and Maud have been friends since before we knew about the money," I explained ardently.

He smiled back in what he supposed was a disarming manner but only served to rile me further. I leaned forward to speak but felt Maud's hand on my sleeve.

"Susan was introduced to me by an acquaintance of my (supposed) Uncle," she said mildly. "That was before any of us were told of the contents of the will."

"I see," said Mr Butterfield. "Forgive me if I was appearing to pry. This is really of no consequence to me, legally speaking; but I was so very curious about the provision in the will that stated that neither of you was to be told about the nature of your upbringing until Miss Lilly's eighteenth birthday. I have to say, it must have come as a great shock, Miss Sucksby, to find out that an entire half of your inheritance, not to mention your great family connection, was to be given away unbeknownst to you."

I frowned. The use of our 'real' names made the conversation hard to follow, but I saw Maud relax against the back of her chair.

"Quite the contrary, Mr Butterfield," she smiled while her fingers carelessly brushed the back of my hand. "Neither you, nor my mother could have known all the things in life that I have missed while having the benefit of being raised a Lady in the country. Seeing all of it go to my best friend is, in the balance of things, greatly to my advantage."

It was all so simple, the way Maud put it. Like none of those awful things we did to each other ever happened, and only our great love for each other remained. I smiled gratefully at her, but she didn't catch my eye. Mr Butterworth gave a beaming smile that turned his eyes to bright little buttons.

"I am so happy for you both, then. My experience tells me that these things seldom are concluded so amiably as this," he heaved a sigh. "It's just sad that your mother is no longer around to share in this happy occasion."

"My mother?" asked Maud, sitting up.

"Poor woman," he muttered into his lap thoughtfully. "She would have been proud to see how it all ended, I'm sure."

"Poor woman?" Maud raised her voice. "Mr Butterfield, you are mistaken if you think Mrs Sucksby or Marianne Lilly made that particular piece of paper with the welfare of either of their children in mind. Marianne only wrote it because Mrs Sucksby forced her to do it in exchange for some aid in her time of need. In hindsight, sir, we might have all been better off if the two of them had never met."

"Maud," I cautioned her.

Mr Butterworth, though, seemed not to notice Maud's little outburst, but curiously continued to regard his clasped hands in his lap, like what she said didn't matter a bit.

"Well now," he muttered amiably. "I understand that there might be a bit of bitterness over the matter. I know if my mother had given me up-"

"Given me up?" Maud cried, "You don't know how vilely she used Sue here. How she intended to send her to the ma-"

"Maud!" I cried. She had gone too far, but I also began to see that something very queer was going on. Her words had not moved the lawyer at all. Indeed he seemed to provoke her with his very indifference.

"Oh, really?" he cocked his head like he was confused and his voice was very low. "Because when I saw her she spoke very solicitously about the two of you; the gentleman with her, Mr Rivers, seemed particularly concerned for your well-being."

"Richard!" Maud spat the word. "He was no better than she, worse even. The pair of them had conspired from-"

"That's enough, Maud!" I hissed at her. In her fury she had risen out of her chair, so I pulled her to me by the arm and shot him a scathing look before I held her eyes with mine and spoke to her firmly. "He don't need to know no more."

I could feel her tremble as she ran the back of her hand over her lips that had become wet with spittle. She breathed heavily and her eyes darted fearfully toward Mr Butterworth who simply sat in the same, pensive way, disclosing nothing.

Then we all heard the dull thumping at the outer door and Mr Butterworth got up himself.

"That's got to be young Peter, come back with the tea!" he declared cheerily. "I'll just be a minute."

"Oh, Sue," Maud whispered as soon as he left. "Did I say… have I…."

"It's alright, Maud," I soothed her red cheek. "You didn't say nothing that you ought not."

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Don't be. I should've figured what he was up to from the start. He pulled that old act to get you to talk; like the police did when they took me to the station after… that day, shh."

We heard the heavy tread of his feet before he re-entered the room.

"I think we could all use a nice cup about now, hmm?" Said Mr Butterworth as he came back into the room bearing a tray. I had lost my appetite for anything by then. He set it down on a small table by his chair and looked with satisfaction at the silver pot and the plate of biscuits and small sandwiches neatly spread before him, before he met our belligerent faces. He looked different to me all a sudden, magically changed. Instead of that jolly look about his face, which he had worn for our arrival, he had replaced it with something hard to pin down; it would be too simple to describe his look as caring. Perhaps that's why I couldn't figure his age by the lines on his face. They were not the consequence of great age, nor of good humour; but of a deep understanding of all the dirty things people were capable of.

He looked gravely at Maud for what seemed like an eternity, while the two of us just stood close to one another, uncertain of where we stood with this man.

However, he made a calming gesture with his hand. "You may be at ease now, Miss; rest assured I will ask no more questions. You understand I needed to ascertain that the last requests of Marianne Lilly are carried out willingly. There's been too much deception in that regard."

"Deception?" I swallowed hard.

He didn't answer right away but simply sat and motioned that we should join him. Gone was all the vagueness that he had cloaked himself with before. We sat meekly.

"I believe one of you at least prefers coffee over tea." He said pleasantly while he poured.

"Yes, thank-you," Maud and I said it together, and he laughed.

"When I met Mrs Sucksby, I asked her what Susan might want to drink," He explained while he poured a second cup. "But at the time I wasn't sure which of you would come. There were questions in my mind."

Maud looked at me questioningly and I made to say something but was cut off.

"You don't have to explain, Miss Lilly," he interjected quickly. "There are some details that can, and I think perhaps should, remain private between the two of you; but I can tell you what I guessed, so that you'll understand my position."

He looked at Maud significantly before he went on. "When I received Mr Rivers and Mrs Sucksby back in July, it was readily apparent to me that they were hiding something. Your sudden and much too convenient breakdown, Miss Sucksby, so soon after your marriage, bolstered my suspicions. Mr Rivers' subsequent death, ostensibly at your mother's hands (let me finish, Miss Sucksby), only confirmed that this legacy was the source of a great deal of mischief. When you came tonight I felt duty bound to determine what part either of you played in their plans, and whether the directions you gave me in your letter were made willingly or not. As you so emphatically stated, Miss Sucksby; Marianne Lilly's will may have been created for all the wrong reasons; so I am determined not to compound the matter now by executing it in the same manner."

There was a long moment where we all regarded our coffees in sombre silence. It was Maud who finally broke it, in a voice that was almost a whisper.

"Was it all so obvious?" she asked.

He shot me a look and then cleared his throat before answering. "Obvious? Only if you think guessing the question is obvious when you only have the answer. I saw your mother twice in these chambers, Miss Sucksby. The first time she showed me the will, unaccompanied. The second time, at my insistence, she came with Mr Rivers to show me the letter from a Dr Christie, written from the hospital where you were said to be indisposed."

I shuddered involuntarily to hear the madhouse doctor's name and Maud's knuckles whitened around the arm of her chair, but Mr Butterworth went on relentlessly.

"It was then I knew that your mother had never told Mr Rivers your true identity. He believed you an orphan child of unknown parentage. I asked my self why she should hide it from him."

He eyed me again and I squirmed in my chair uncomfortably.

"But to answer your question, Miss Sucksby," He added mildly, "It was not obvious at all. It was Miss Lilly here who gave the game away, much later."

My head came up. "What, me? I never said anything."

He smiled. "You didn't have to. But there were witnesses the day Mr Rivers died who told the police that Mrs Sucksby had spread the word that you had run away from home months earlier, only to be seen again when Mr Rivers was killed. It never came out during the trial, but I read the statements. So when Mrs Sucksby came to me, in regards to your inheritance, you were nowhere to be found. I've often wondered who Mrs Sucksby had in mind to play the part of Susan Trinder, and who..."

He left the thought hanging.

_Played the Fool_, I thought bitterly. The memory that stole into my mind was of the feel of the knife in my hand, and the burning hatred I once felt for those I thought done it to me. I looked at Maud but she stared at the carpet as if in a trance; but there was fear in her eyes.

"That's enough," I growled darkly. "We know what bloody well happened."

Mr Butterworth eyed me levelly. "Yes, and I am glad for you both that it wasn't in the way intended."

In the ensuing silence I looked towards Maud's pensive features before Mr Butterworth caught my eye and tried to lift the mood by offering us both sandwiches accompanied by a generous smile, much like the jolly man we first encountered.

"I think, Miss Lilly," he said softly, "We can continue tonight on a better note, happy in the thought that this is the outcome your mother would have wanted."

_My mother_. I thought of her, perhaps for the first time ever, as someone who had really existed, and held me in her arms once, _and loved me. _My vision blurred and I kept my eyes down on my cup rather than have the others see my welling eyes, but Maud's fingers found my own nonetheless.

"Yeah," I blubbered. "I guess she would've."

We soon moved over to the big desk. Mr Butterworth became all solicitor then, moving with assured purpose while he distributed reams of paper upon the table, all the time droning on about legal matters I could hardly comprehend. Even Maud could not assist me, for she had placed her chair far from me with the explanation that we would require space before us for all the papers we must sign. I was so worried that I had forgotten how to sign my own name, and would have to sign every paper with a horrible mark that would make Maud ashamed of me, that I could hardly follow Mr Butterworth's instructions regarding where my investments were and how I was to apply to withdraw the funds for my own use. Maud was far away, but even if she were nearer I could hardly speak to her in private, for Mr Butterworth spoke every word to me alone, like Maud already knew it all and only I, the stupid girl, required the instructions.

"Please," I implored him when I could take no more. "Can you arrange it so that Mr Dunn in Maidenhead can get my money for me if I simply write to him, or something?"

"Of course, Miss Lilly," he said and hauled a large gold watch from his waistcoat. "I forget you must be tired from your journey. I will have a copy of the full details of your investments sent to his attention so that you can review it at your leisure. In that case, why don't we move on and sign the documents now."

Maud seemed to have no questions regarding her share, and I noticed Mr Butterworth didn't even offer her the convenience of getting her money through Mr Dunn as well. I looked over at her, but she appeared to be so busy reading the papers in front of her that she didn't notice me.

The lawyer spread some papers before me. "Miss Lilly, if you could just sign here and here…."

He pointed to all the places I was to sign my name and moved on to have Maud sign her own. Thank God he wasn't hovering over me, making me more nervous than I was. Even so, the first signature I made took all my concentration, and still came out all wobbly. The second was easier, and by the third I got the hang of it. I even had time to eavesdrop on Mr Butterworth while he spoke to Maud.

"Are you satisfied, Miss Sucksby?" he asked her. "It is the codicil you insisted on adding."

"Yes," I heard her say. "It is exactly how I wanted it."

"Are you completely sure of this?"

"I am determined, Mr Butterworth," she replied.

I looked over, but she was too busy signing her name to notice. I watched enviously the bold, confident strokes of her hand and could hear her pen swoosh across the page; not like my own poor scratchy scrawl. There was nothing in her face, or Mr Butterworth's to indicate anything was out of the ordinary. If only she hadn't set her chair so far apart from mine I might've asked her what they were talking about, without displaying my ignorance for all to see.

Another minute and it was done. Mr Butterworth began to gather up the papers. I pondered what we had just done, while in the background I heard the sound of the pages clicking as the lawyer arranged them into neat piles.

It was finally over, I thought; the whole chapter of my past, and Maud's, was closed at last. How had Maud put it? No more waiting for 'when'. I felt my heart pounding and grew breathless just thinking about it. It was not how I imagined it would be. I was relieved, yes, but was I happy? It was like I'd planned for this moment for so long, that now that I'd got there, the enormity of what was yet to come overshadowed everything else. What would happen now? What did the future hold in store? I was adrift, with no more wind to push me.

The pens were taken away. I waited for some excitement, or some joy that I was sure would come to me once the shock wore off. Did Maud feel it too, I wondered? I looked again at her but she avoided my eye and stared straight ahead with her fingers splayed in front of her, like a cat ready to spring. A glass was pushed into my hand and I looked up. Mr Butterworth was all smiles once more. He was congratulating us, but I was hardly listening. I sipped the brandy and winced as it burned my throat, but at least I found it restored me. I tried to smile at Mr Butterworth and then at Maud.

I watched Maud swallow the whole of her drink in one go without even blinking. The only effect it had was to make a slow blush on her pale cheek.

"… you do?" I just caught a bit of what Mr Butterworth had said to me.

I turned to him. "What?"

He smiled kindly. "I was just asking what will you do now?"

What a question! I gave a giddy sort of laugh and blurted. "I haven't got a clue! I dunno, maybe get someone to fix the bleedin chimney for a start!"

"I meant," he added gently. "What will you do tonight? Do you have accommodations?"

I blushed like anything and lowered my eyes. "Sorry. No, we hadn't planned where we were going to stay."

Maud stood up suddenly and smoothed her dress like she was anxious to leave. "Perhaps Mr Butterworth could recommend a place nearby. We could go there now. That is, if we can afford it, Sue."

I looked up meekly. "We've only got a few schill-"

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed and patted his waistcoat. "I can provide you with the money. A woman of your substance can't be seen in some lodging house."

"You mustn't," Maud and I both implored.

"Miss Lilly," he declared. "You are a very rich woman now. I think it would be safe for me to make a small loan to a woman worth nearly thirty thousand pounds."

"A loan; of course," I said, relieved, then snorted at Maud. "D'you hear that, Maud? He's already made like I've swindled you out of your money. Thirty thousand indeed!"

Mr Butterworth turned to go but then stopped dead, like he ran into a wall, and eyed me narrowly, and then he eyed Maud. My laughter died as I watched Maud turn red and look away.

"You did tell her, didn't you, Miss Sucksby?" Mr Butterworth asked Maud.

She moved her head evasively and wouldn't meet his eye, nor mine.

"Tell me what, Maud?" I went to her and took her hand to turn her to me, and it trembled in mine before becoming lifeless. I looked to the lawyer. "Mr Butterfield?"

He paused while he licked his lips in thought, before speaking slowly. "Miss Sucksby has told you, hasn't she, that she made over to you her portion of your mother's estate in its entirety?"

I stared at Maud coldly. I remember it grew so quiet I could hear the sound of the carriages on Fleet Street, and a steam whistle coming from the Thames. Her eyes slowly lifted towards mine, and her look was hard before she grimaced as my grip tightened painfully around her hand. What was the phrase Mr Butterworth had used? _Too much deception_.

"You knew that, didn't you?" I heard him ask again.

What could I have said? It was all done by then, and signed. How could I tell him that I trusted Maud so much that I didn't, or indeed couldn't, read a word of what I signed? How could I tell him that Maud could be determined, stubborn, even contrary, and that was precisely the reason why I loved her so much; just as much as I could also hate her at times like these.

I relented, and replied to him in a flat voice without looking away from her. "'Course I knew it. I just thought you were speaking of some other thing."

He nodded slowly, before he shrugged off his doubt and made for the door. "Then if you'll excuse me, I'll just step out and get that boy Peter to fetch a cab. It will take you to a hotel I know that you'll find very comfortable. You won't forget to mention my name to the manager, will you? He's an old friend of mine. I did him a valuable service once…."

His voice faded as he went in search of the boy.

Maud's hard stare met my own, and she did not even try to escape my painful grip. I didn't have to say a thing to her; she already knew every word I was thinking. The only sign of our struggle was the sound of her own breath whistling fervently through her nostrils. It went on and on like that.

"You know I couldn't take the money," she broke the silence at last. I stayed silent and ground my teeth in anger. I could feel her hand squirm in mine.

"I never wanted any of it," she hissed between her teeth. She raised her chin defiantly, and drew herself up to her full height, which forced me to look up at her, before suddenly clutching at her wrist in pain.

"Oh Sue! Please, my hand!" she gasped.

I let her go and she fell back, nursing her hand against her belly. In my temper I had forgotten I had been holding her that hard. My own hand flew to my mouth.

"Oh Gawd, Maud, I'm sorry!" I cried and reached for her. She let me take up her hand and did not pull away as I kissed at her crushed fingers. She flinched, still breathing hard as her eyes looked at me reproachfully.

"Why must I have it, Sue? _Why_, when I would gladly give it all to you!" she thumped at her breast passionately with her fist.

"Because it's yours, Maud," I said thickly, aghast that I had hurt her.

"It is not mine at all! It is totally undeserved," she pulled her hand away to gesture violently to the air. "It was only what Mrs Sucksby wanted. What she wanted to take for herself, and you were to suffer for it, Sue."

"But we need this money, for us." I pleaded feeling a tightness growing in my chest. It was torture arguing with her like that, and it was all I could do to keep my composure.

"I know that!" she exclaimed and paced fretfully in front of me. "No matter how bitterly that sits with me, I know that. _You_ made me see that, Sue!"

She stopped and blinked in consternation at my face for a moment before she heaved a great sigh and put her forehead against my own.

"Oh Sue," she whispered in a drawn-out sigh. "_Why_ must I have it?"

"Because Maud," I started, but the fight had made my voice go all high and queer. Maud put her hand to my cheek. Her poor fingers were still red and I kissed them impulsively with my slimy lips. "Because, Maud, I can't have you beholden to me for money, or… or … feeling caged up. How long will it be before you feel like it was under Mr Lilly, and resent me all the more because you have not the means…"

I began to shake and felt Maud lift my face to take a handkerchief to my eyes and to my gushing nose.

"Stop it Sue," she said, so sharply that she sounded angry again, and I made an effort to compose myself. She rolled her eyes at me and gave a loud exasperated gasp.

"Sue! Of all people, you are the most stubborn…" she searched the ceiling for words. "When will you accept once and for all that I love you?"

I blushed to hear her say it out loud. I could only mumble to the floor. "Oh, Maud."

"I am not completely incapable, you know," she hectored me. "Was I not managing quite as well as you when you found me at Briar? Better even! So do not get the notion into your head, _Miss Lilly_, that you can do anything to make me stay if it were not for the fact that _I am in love with you_, money or no money. Do you hear me?"

P'raps she was right, I thought ruefully. Maybe I had let my imagination run wild, thinking the worst. I've said it before; I've always had a warm imagination. She certainly turned the tables on me, then, 'cause I was supposed to feel angry with her, but instead I felt fairly admonished.

"Yes, Miss," I said half-jokingly, but rather than smile she glared at me all the worse.

"Then can you accept me as I am; a poor girl without occupation or character, with only her love for you as her fortune?" she finished with another sigh from her heaving chest.

It was that simple, her declaration, and all at once it banished that curious feeling I had earlier of drifting without purpose. I imagined I could see my way clearly; not the destination, but the journey itself, by her side. That was my purpose.

I held her hands in mine but shook my head at her. "No Maud, I won't. I won't accept you with only your love. You must have mine as well with you, always; for richer, and particularly from now on, for poorer."

We laughed together then, though mine was mixed with such relief that I think it brought more tears than anything, cause it made Maud daub at my face with her handkerchief and laugh all the harder for it. When that spell was over we caught our breath and gazed once more at each other's eyes, this time in an embrace, not a struggle.

"Your carriage will be here momentarily," Mr Butterworth declared as he strode into the room, but then paused as he caught sight of us. He looked from one to the other curiously. We had sprung apart just moments before and Maud's mischievous smile must've been the mirror of my own. She saw me eye her lips, ruby-red and swollen, and fetched our bags so that the lawyer might not notice as well.

"It sometimes takes a while, eh?" he asked me.

"What's that?" I asked, feeling the creeping blush take to my cheeks.

"To sink in," he explained. "Nothing like getting rich to bring a glow and a smile to your face, what?"

If he only knew! I caught Maud giving me a knowing look out the corner of my eye but I kept a straight face.

"Thank-you, you've been ever so helpful," I said to him.

He smiled warmly at me, before he motioned me over to the desk.

"If I could have a word with you before you go. I took the liberty of giving you this advance on your income," he said and handed me a small purse. I almost dropped it, it was that heavy! He indicated I should look inside and grunted in satisfaction when I gasped at the gold coins.

"Lord! I never seen so many! At least, not real ones." I marvelled.

He chuckled and beamed benevolently. "You were born a Lady, Miss Lilly, and it's high time you began living like one. Don't forget that I am here if you need any more help while you are in the City, though I don't expect someone with your particular knowledge of London will be cheated out of that sum of money."

"Not likely anyway," I smiled appreciatively at him. "I'm guessing you won't have to fetch us out of the workhouse, anyway. Oh Christ!"

"What is it, Miss Lilly?"

"Maud!" I shouted. "We forgot all about poor Thomas!"

"Oh. We must ask Mr Butterfield!" she came at once to my side and we both pressed upon him. "Sir, you will help us will you not?"

"You've got to help him!" I joined her.

"Hold on one minute," he said as he backed away from us with his hands up. His brows came together like ships colliding. You've never seen such a mobile face as his. All the mountains turned to valleys and deep crevasses seldom seen were suddenly exposed to the light as his smile turned abruptly into a frown. "_Who_ is this person?"

Maud and I looked at one another, trying to decide where to start, and then both of us tried to explain at once, which caused no end of confusion.

"His name is Thomas Bodle," offered Maud

"He's trapped in the workhouse in St Giles!" I explained.

"Trapped you say?" asked Mr Butterworth.

"Not literally, of course," added Maud.

"He don't know it, but they keep him there," I said.

"Locked up?" asked Mr Butterworth.

"No, we met him outside," I corrected him.

"When we were attacked," explained Maud.

"He attacked!?"

"Course not! But never mind that now," I said.

"Thomas wants to leave, but they won't permit it," Maud elaborated..

"You got to write a letter to the Reverend," I explained.

"A girl there, Letty, explained how we might free him," said Maud

"To give him work at Briar," I added.

"He's asked you?" asked Mr Butterworth.

"Um…he…," I pondered.

"Not in so many words," added Maud.

"But he wants to, I know he does," I declared.

"Mr Butterworth," implored Maud. "Can you help us?"

At the end of this bombardment Mr Butterworth stared at me and Maud for a bit, with more than a little bewilderment spread across his features before he gave a helpless shrug. "I'm sorry, I don't follow you."

I put my hand to my head and groaned and looked at Maud for help. I could see her mind working, trying to piece together all the mad events that made up our day, but before she could work it out there was the sound of footsteps at the door and we all turned to see the boy stick his head into the room.

"Mr Butterworth, sir, I got the taxi cab waiting outside."

Maud issued a sigh of frustration and Mr Butterworth spread his hands.

"Perhaps another time, then," he suggested.

The boy came forward to collect our bags and waited by me expectantly. They all looked at me.

"No," I said firmly to no one in particular. "I promised to get him out of there and I'm not going to abandon him. Not now that I have the means."

"You," I commanded the boy. "Tell 'im to wait. Tell 'im I'll pay 'im handsomely for the inconvenience."

Then I turned on the lawyer. "You'd better sit down, sir. This may take a while."

We resumed our seats around the big desk while I bade Mr Butterworth not to interrupt during the long explanation which seemed fantastical in the telling of it. When I finished, he mopped his brow with a handkerchief and shook his head.

"Good heavens," he said in wonder. "What you went through. Any ordinary person would be in the hospital after such an ordeal; from the shock at least, if not from the physical harm!"

I smiled over at Maud, and placed my hand on hers.

"Maud and I ain't ordinary girls, sir."

In the carriage Maud leaned against me, made drowsy by the gentle rocking of the carriage, too tired to even wonder where we were being taken. I had asked our driver, of course, but not recognising the name of the hotel I simply had to trust to Mr Butterworth's good judgement. Not that I had any reason to complain. Mr Butterworth had thought of everything, even down to the taxi cab we were in, which was more of a private carriage for hire than an ordinary hackney (as if I could have ever thought travelling by hackney was ordinary!) The fact that he was spending my own money didn't even bother me; for once we had money to spare.

I peered outside to gauge where we were going. At least the bleedin fog had lifted. We lumbered along with all the rest of the evening traffic, passed St Clements and went along The Strand, in the direction of Charing Cross. I wondered how many of them noticed that our carriage was one of the better sort?

I shook the drowsy girl's shoulder. "Maud, d'you think it'll be nice?"

"Hmm?" she murmured.

"The Hotel; I'll bet it's better than most, eh? You figure he'd pick a good one?"

"So long as there is a bed." she sighed.

I clucked my tongue at her severely. "How can you be so dull, Maud, when you think of all the places we can go, and the things we can afford now!"

"I would trade it all right now for a quiet bed," she muttered, snuggling her cheek against my shoulder.

"Get on with you," I chided her and returned my gaze to the wide street outside. The shops on The Strand were closed, and the colourful canopies over the windows had been furled for the night, but there were still people out on the pavement taking in the night air; girls with their husbands or sweethearts or chaperones arm in arm, walking under the soft glow of the gaslights. I felt Maud move against me and observed through her long and delicate lashes the tiny pink lines on her half closed eyelids. The thought that it will soon be me and Maud out there strolling made my pulse quicken and I wondered how she could be so cool.

We turned away from the river, to avoid the jam at Trafalgar. I noticed the carriages we kept company with were getting better and better; at least as smart as ours. With a pang I realised I felt jealous. We soon crossed a busy street that might have been Regent and entered part of the City that I was unfamiliar with, where the rumble of our wheels grew quiet and all we heard was the soft clopping of the horses around us.

"Are we here?" Maud stirred against me. The change in the sound must have roused her.

I'm sure she thought the roads were better in this part of London, and perhaps they were. More likely it was quieter cause no one bothered to walk in this district, but were driven by their servants and hired men, and the wheels beneath them were cushioned by all the shit on the roads.

I looked narrowly at her, "You wanted a bed, Maud, so I told the driver to let you off at an old doss-house I know back in the Borough."

She sat up and cocked a suspicious eye outside. We passed rows of grand townhouses built for the rich. In places there was even space enough for some trees, though the gaslight cast them in a ghastly colour.

"This is not anything like the Borough, Sue," Maud smiled at me sideways. "Besides, I would have noticed if we passed over the bridge."

"We don't have to cross the river ever again." I said, nodding out the window. I knew of this place, but I'd never seen it for myself before. "This must be Mayfair."

"Mayfair?" she looked in earnest now. "I never dreamed… .I've only ever read about it!"

In dirty books no doubt, I thought wickedly, but didn't say. To me it had always been just a place where the rich lived; Society people who might as well have spoken a different language as far as I was concerned. Maud no more belonged to it than I did, and the more I saw of their gated houses and ruler straight shrubberies the more it made me feel like a stranger to it all. Then I saw the hotel.

"Christ," I whispered.

With a gentle jolt our carriage left the road and entered the circular drive that separated the road from our destination. The hotel had temple-like columns in front just like the Drury Theatre, only smaller, but no less grand. The honey-coloured stone glowed deep gold where large gas-lights hung from the walls. The pavement in front was decorated with great iron vases that spilled over with hot-house flowers that were brilliantly illuminated by gas-lights set atop wrought iron posts. The doors of the place must have been a dozen feet tall, and made of brass; or gold… who knows.

"Is this it?" asked Maud in disbelief.

I swallowed and nodded.

Ours wasn't the only carriage there, but such was the hubbub of attendants in front of the place that there were plenty to spare on our account. They rushed to the curb as we drew alongside. Maud hurriedly put her hat on and I copied her as someone opened the door, and another placed some blue velvet covered steps on the ground so that Maud and I could step down more easily without soiling our shoes. It was all done with so much formality that I found it unnerving. A man in an elaborate tailed coat and white gloves tipped his tall hat and offered to hand us down.

Maud looked at me uncertainly and lowered her voice. "We cannot possible afford this, can we?"

"One night won't matter," I bravely assured her, but I wasn't thinking about the money.

After a moments hesitation she let herself be handed down. The man smiled deferentially at her from behind a large moustache, but as she stepped down I caught him looking her over expertly, not unlike a Borough man sizing up his mark. He wasn't thinking of robbing us or anything like that; he was judging our boots that were sensibly made for country roads, the provincial cut of our dresses and the state of our hats. _Determining our worth_. He was likely just figuring we weren't worth the trouble if we weren't going to be paying customers. So I could hardly meet his eye when it was my turn, knowing his eyes registered my rough features, my slattern's walk.

Outside I blinked in the glare of the gaslight. There was a commotion nearby as the great doors were thrown open and a boisterous party poured out onto the pavement, glittering from the light of a tall chandelier that hung behind them in the hotel entrance. Perhaps they were going out to a dinner party. They were all dressed up for it; the ladies in bright flounced silk decorated with collars and cuffs, beribboned and frilled, floating as light as air; the men in formal frock coats and the best silk-plush hats. They were certainly loud enough to be heard for bleedin miles. But what got my bile up was how all the hotel staff fawned and fell over themselves to help them into their gleaming carriages. Everyone stared in awe, including my Maud, who looked small and plain and subdued in comparison. My heart sank. This wasn't at all how I imagined it would be. It occurred to me that I should have known we might not be welcome in a place like that.

Someone spoke behind me. "Where's the luggage? Why, the Miss Davidsons had five trunks apiece."

It was the moustached man in the fancy coat again. He peered into the carriage.

"We've only got a couple bags," I explained meekly.

He blanched at my accent, and his eyes flicked between me and Maud. He was probably hoping to get rid of us quickly. He likely thought we was come seeking work or something, cause all the other ones like him had abandoned us for the more respectable looking customers. I felt my ears burning and looked to Maud for help but before I could catch her eye the coachman presented himself expectantly before me. I must have looked bewildered, cause he coughed awkwardly and pretended not to notice in an obvious way. I grew nervous and blushed all the more. Then it hit me; I had to pay him, of course. I thought maybe Mr Butterworth had squared things with the man beforehand, but then why else would I have been given the purse full of coin? Gawd, I chastised myself. I was supposed to be a Londoner, so why was I acting like a stupid schoolgirl?

I fumbled with my purse and shoved some money into his hand. I just wanted to be left alone with Maud, so I didn't care what I gave him, but I saw he was taken aback and knew I had made the mistake of grossly overpaying and would have to humble myself by asking for some back. I heard an anguished sigh escape my lips. Dammit, I wouldn't allow them to debase me no more, not in front of Maud, and especially not over something I had plenty of.

"Christ, just clear off, will you?" I snapped at them.

That did it, I thought. They would surly have a girl like me out on her ear for that. Maud must have heard me groan for she was at my side in an instant.

"Is everything alright, Sue?"

"I'd better get our bags," I muttered. I didn't know whether we were staying or going, all I knew was that Maud wouldn't see the mortification on my face while I went back in the carriage. I didn't get far, though. The fancy man blocked my way.

I rolled my eyes, _Now what?_

"Please Miss," he said soothingly. "You must allow me."

His voice was all honey and when I looked up at him he looked all eager to please all a sudden. He made a signal with his hand and before I knew it our bags were whisked away, someone asked if we were too cold, or too warm, and two uniformed attendants were sent before us to make sure the doors were held open for us properly and that no one impeded us while we were led inside. Maud and I huddled together wide-eyed while all that was going on around us and once we were at the huge gold doors I looked back to catch our driver talking to the fancy man, looking very self satisfied into the bargain. _Exactly how much bleedin money did I give him?_

Maud hugged my arm and I turned to see her face flush with excitement under the light from the enormous chandelier that was suspended above us from the vast gilt ceiling.

"Is this not wonderful, Sue?" she beamed. "For a second I thought we might not be welcome here."

"Nonsense, Maud," I chided her. "You're every inch of you a Lady. Anyone can see that."

Maud flopped down onto the bed as soon as we were alone in our bedroom. I heard an excited yelp come from the place where she vanished into a crevasse of thick down coverlets before she floated back up to the surface again.

"Oh, this bed! Help me up, Sue. I don't want to crease my dress. I'll need it looking nice for later."

I helped her out and she unhooked her skirt and stepped free. I examined it before taking it to the dressing room.

"If we have to I'm sure there's someone here that we can send our clothes to," I called out before coming back to work on her laces. "Besides, first thing we'll do is to get us some new things."

"We can afford it now. As you well know," I added to forestall her protest.

Maud looked back over her shoulder impishly. "I had no idea we had so much money."

"Yeah, well we do," I admitted and blushed behind her back. She wasn't meant to know just how much money Mr Butterworth gave me, but after what happened earlier I figured everyone knew it.

"It's not your fault, Sue," she said soothingly. "The way the hotel manager reacted you would think you placed your tits on the table."

"Maud!" I admonished her. Somehow coarse words sounded worse when she said them. But she was only trying to console me over what happened. I lifted her stays off.

"How were you to know that we were not required to pay in advance?" she said reasonably.

"I suppose," I said grumpily. I didn't need to be reminded of the vulgar display I put on in the hotel's entrance hall. Still, I thought, what a bunch of trusting flats they all are! If only I knew back in my Borough days that you didn't have to pay up front!

"And it cannot be so very strange to anyone to carry a hundred weight of gold around on your person," she added innocently.

"Oh you rat!" I gasped and pushed her onto the bed, where I heard peals of laughter come from the deep covers. The sound made my cheeks burn..

"Did you see his face, Sue?" she writhed with laughter in the bed's embrace. "When you dropped all that money onto the table?"

I huffed at her and looked to the ceiling, but the images came back to me all the same. It was bad enough, that look of disgust on the hotel manager's thin face when I went and plopped my heavy purse on his table, in full view of all the other guests, but it was worse when he tried to push it back at me in a panic and the whole thing came apart and spilled.

Maud gasped for air from laughing. "And the sight of him crawling on his hands and knees!"

I blanched at the memory of the coins ringing loudly on the marble floor and the manager trying to stop them, only to make things worse. Christ, there were so many of 'em everywhere.

"You was on the floor too, Maud, crawling with the rest of us with your arse up!" I scoffed, but I had to suppress the urge to laugh with her.

The accusation only made Maud shake all the more, until I could take it no longer and pulled her up.

"Get off of that," I said with mock anger and then pushed her away from the bed. "Before you go and wet yourself!"

But she came right back and put her arms around my neck and I wasn't so mad at her that I might refuse if she were to try and make it up to me. I grew suddenly aware of her body near me with only her chemise and pantelettes to hide her. Her back arched when I touched her through the thin fabric, and her laboured breath made her a live thing against me. Her face was inches from mine while she worked at the hooks of my dress.

My hands pulled at her chemise but I willed myself not to give in to her so easily. Rather, I turned my face away from her petulantly. "Oh Maud, how can I show my face to them again?"

She put her hands to my red cheek and drew my face back to hers. "You noticed how he looked after, didn't you? How they all looked afterwards? They all wished they were like you. They all wished they were _with_ you, Sue."

I feigned indifference, but I did remember it sweetly. I remember that prig of a manager begging our pardon from his knees. I remembered the wagging tongues of the guests; despite their prior scorn, despite all their manners and breeding, falling silent at the sight of all that gold carelessly strewn about; and finally, I remembered what Maud did; how she innocently remarked that the coins looked so beautiful against the marble floor that it was a pity to retrieve them. They all looked at Maud and me in wonder after that.

"Do you know what I wish for?" her voice sunk to a whisper.

"What?" I hardly dared to ask.

"I wish have you all to myself, always," she crooned and drew my trembling lips to hers.

She tugged and pulled like a wild thing at my garments, which brought all my wanting of her to a fever pitch. I ran my hands over her chemise, to the firm parts of her, and the yielding parts too, while we kissed. Then with a gasp she pulled herself free of my urgent embrace to fall back onto the feathery cloud that was the bed and my breath left me when I saw her pantalettes had fallen, exposing her brown sex, and the dark ringlets where she had already made herself wet.

I sank beside her into the soft bed, so deep the bedding drew us together, though I needed no encouragement, and I stayed against her, or beneath, or on top of her while the candles guttered and the coal in the grate settled into dust, and our damp and glistening bodies never noticed until long after that the room had grown chill during the night.

When I woke the next day, I was still entwined with her, and sore from having slept so deep without having moved at all. When I rolled over Maud smiled and muttered sleepily. From where I lay I could see the handsome plaster mouldings on the ceiling by the daylight that crept under the drapes. The ceiling was painted like a blue sky, with puffy clouds on it. It was another pleasant discovery in a place full of them. We had already discovered we had a parlour, for me and Maud to receive guests, and our own water closet and bathroom. We even had a separate dressing room just like the one at Briar, but nicer, because everything in it was new and beautiful. Best was, we could lie about without worrying about what anyone might think of us. I was just relaxing there, thinking pleasantly on these things, when I heard movement in the parlour and then a tapping at the bedroom door.

"Who is it?" I croaked, drawing the coverlet up.

"Your maid, Miss," came the muffled response.

I looked at Maud. _We have a maid?_

I've come to clean the grate," the voice added.

"Just a minute!" I called tremulously.

I rolled out of bed, dragging a coverlet with me like a robe, and remembered there was a pair of fine dressing gowns hanging in the dressing room. On the way I picked up my dress and a petticoat, which might have been Maud's, and my stays.

"You could at least help," I snapped.

Maud groaned luxuriantly and stretched herself under the coverlet like a cat. "Oh, come back to bed and let the girl do her job."

"What, and let her see we slept like savages? Not likely!"

Arms full, I kicked the rest of the clothes that were on the floor into the dressing room, where I heaped them on the floor, and threw on a dressing gown with nothing under, before I went into the parlour.

A girl was silhouetted against the bright sunlight that poured through the windows where she had opened the curtains. I blinked and had to shield my eyes in the glare.

"Lord, what time is it?" I asked.

"Half-past nine o'clock, Miss?" she volunteered. "Is this not a convenient time, then?"

The girl's voice trembled and she showed the whites of her eyes as she looked behind her. The back her head showed her hair was an unremarkable mousey colour. There was another girl there too, behind her; even more timid than the first. As my eyes adjusted I could tell they both wore the same sort of hotel uniform; a light-greyish pinafore over a plain black muslin dress topped with a short bonnet. They might as well have all been nuns they were so plain. The second girl carried a basket for coal and a bucket for the cinders. She held her eyes down to the floor. A chambermaid, I figured; but at least she didn't have to slop out our pots.

"Should we come back, Miss?" the first one fidgeted.

She reminded me of how nervous I was when I first stood before Maud, but I couldn't imagine why anyone would be scared of me.

"It's no problem at all," I tried to set her at ease. "Maud and I was just going to get some breakfast."

"Breakfast?" the girl bit her lip. "But I should fetch it for you. Did you want me to bring it here or in your dining room?"

"What, we've got a dining room, too?" I exclaimed. The girl didn't know what to say and shuffled her feet. The chambermaid tried harder to be invisible.

"Here's fine," I decided, then added. "You goin' to be our maid every day?"

She gave a start. "What d'you mean, Miss?"

"I mean, what's your name, girl," I gently coaxed.

"Have I done something wrong, Miss?" she quailed.

"Gawd no, what I meant was-" I began.

"Stop tormenting her, Sue," said Maud quietly from behind me. "You are making her nervous."

Maud had put on the other dressing gown and stood in the doorway to the bedroom.

"What're you talking about?" I asked incredulously.

Maud ignored me and spoke to the maid.

"Toast and coffee will be fine," she said. "Our dresses and things are on the dressing room floor. Have them straightened and lay them on the bed. You may start with the breakfast."

"Yes Miss," the girl curtsied gratefully and nodded for the chambermaid to start on the fireplace while she hurried away for our breakfast. Maud crossed behind me and plopped herself down on the sofa with her legs drawn up.

I pondered the door where the maid had just left before I turned a puzzled eye to Maud. "What was all that about?"

Maud smiled. "You must not try to engage the staff in conversation, Sue. It frightens them."

I snorted, "Get on!"

"It's true," she explained. "Just look at it from their view. You are rich and powerful; they have nothing. A word from you and they will lose their situation. They do not even have the benefit of a long acquaintance like a domestic servant might have. To them we must seem strange, dangerous even."

"But I'm no different than…" I stammered. _Than what_, I wondered? Than what I was before? I was starting to see just how much everything had changed.

I stared at the door again before I sat heavily beside her and shook my head. "Christ; and to think I imagined _I _would be your guide to London, Maud."

She placed my hand at her lips. "Like you told me before, Sue; we depend on each other."

So began the first day of what we would later call our London Season; and just as the time of year was wrong for the real Season, so were our entertainments to prove unconventional compared to those normally shared by girls of our station. But Maud and I weren't ordinary girls were we?

That morning I bolted my breakfast down before I ushered Maud to our dressing room and helped her to wash and dress, not that I hankered for the time when I played the maid, but simply that I was chomping at the bit to get started.

"Look at my skirt," Maud moaned, and tried to smooth the creases from the fabric. "I should not have let it lie on the floor all night."

"Small price to pay, all things considered," I said mischievously.

"Then as recompense I shall have to wear nothing at all," she countered.

I found the thought inviting, but laughed. "As recompense I was thinking we could get new ones today."

"New dresses?" her eyes widened.

"Dresses, stockings, hats; anything you like, Maud; we've got gobs of money after all!" I said. I must have sounded common, but I'm sure Maud didn't notice. I think the one thing Maud missed most about her former ways was all the fine things she had (regardless of whether I thought the styles were a bit odd), so the thought of spending an entire day with me, selecting whatever she wanted, made her almost squeal with delight and throw her arms around me.

"Hang on!" I struggled against her embrace, laughing. "Your ruining my skirt, girl."

She held me at arms length and looked at me so admiringly that it made my chest pound.

"Then I shall pick out a new one for you as well," she said.

We put on our jackets and boots, but before we left we could not resist the impulse to investigate our dining room. It lay through a door on the far end of the parlour. Maud opened the door and we both went in. Even though the curtains were closed I could see that the floor was polished to a shine. It was a large room, with a heavy polished table that you could expand to make it longer for large parties, though Maud and I together weren't acquainted with enough people to fill it up even the way it was. The chairs alone were probably worth a fortune.

"Look at this, Maud!" I called while peering inside the mahogany side board. It was where they kept the silver.

"Lord!" I exclaimed. "If people knew they kept all this plate just lying about unguarded."

"Come on," Maud pulled me away. "I swore an oath to the manager to keep an eye on you."

"Hah," I retorted as we left our suite. "Remember, Miss Sucksby, it's your sort they got to watch out for!"

We were still talking about our dining room, and whether we would ever have the opportunity to use it properly, when we arrived at the hotel entrance. We were just about to leave when we heard a voice calling.

"Pardon me… Ladies?"

I winced. _Not the bloody manager again_? But it was not him; it was someone else. A man hurried across the marble floor intent on speaking with us. I looked at Maud, but the look on her face told me she had never laid eyes on him before either. He was immaculately dressed in the same black clobber you might find on any respectable man in London; black trousers, short black frock coat, black silk topper. The only splash of colour came from his waistcoat which was embroidered in scarlet thread.

As he drew near I saw he had very even features; startlingly so. There was nothing you could point to and say was too big, or too small; nothing too sharp, or too soft. He wore his face shaved clean; I supposed just to show it off. He might have been in his late twenties, but no more. He might have been sculpted out of marble and laid to rest in St Pauls his face was so perfectly carved. He made me uncomfortably aware of every deficiency in my own appearance.

"Hullo?" I said and instinctively drew Maud to me. He must have sensed my apprehension cause he stopped himself short and respectfully removed his hat, showing off waves of blond hair.

"Pardon my interruption, Ladies, but may I inquire if you're leaving."

The question got my hackles up and I glared at him indignantly.

"What, you think we'll go and not pay?" I bristled. I feared people stopped and looked… again.

He held up his hands. "No, you quite misunderstand, Miss. I am not employed by the hotel."

"Oh," I was abashed, though he was decent enough to pretend not to notice and turned his attention onto Maud instead.

"I was merely asking if you are going outside today. I was out earlier and I am afraid the weather has turned very cold during the night. I noticed that you may not be warm enough."

He was just another guest. I was truly mortified, but felt Maud's reassuring hand beside me, and she carried the conversation while I recovered.

"How very kind of you, sir," she said. "But I can see it is very sunny out today. Perhaps we shall be warm enough."

"It is uncommonly clear, Miss," he agreed. "It is a cold wind that has blown the fogs away. I am afraid you will find it chilly outside."

Maud considered. "Then we shall have to make do until we can find something warmer. Indeed, we were about to leave for that very purpose. Good day, Sir."

We started for the door again but he took an insistent step towards us.

"If you please, Miss; the hotel has warm cloaks that they will happily lend you for just such an occasion," he said, and then saw the look on Maud's face. "They are considered fashionable, I assure you. If you will allow me I will show them to you."

He brushed his hair away from his face with his hand. It was an odd habit, cause it wasn't like his hair was in his eyes in any case. I figured he cultivated the gesture just to draw attention to his beautiful face. He probably imagined the girls swooned every time he did it, I thought derisively. But his looks were so eager and open that I found it hard to refuse him.

"Show us then," I told him.

He happily scampered away and I was left with Maud's questioning face.

"It's the only way to be rid of him," I explained. Maud nodded, unconvinced.

He returned victorious bearing a heavy cloak in each hand. "Here you are. You must admit they are a handsome item."

He handed one to me. I had to admit, they were a fine thing. They were made of dark blue worsted, with a black collar of a luxuriously soft black fur that was warm to the touch. It was all I could do to not press it against my cheek. Inside it was lined in silk but I noted, ruefully, that there was a large accusatory label sewn in it that warned; 'Property of the George Hotel'.

If you please, Miss," he said to Maud and offered to place the other cloak around her slender shoulders.

"Here, let me," I said and stepped forward to sweep mine over her instead, giving her a quick wink before I plucked the other cloak from his grasp. I remember with satisfaction the chagrin that marred his perfect features.

"Thank-you," I smirked. "These will do."

We made for the door but again he entreated us. I rolled my eyes, which made Maud chuckle.

"Wait!" he called. "How are you getting there?"

I sighed. "We're getting the doorman to fetch a hackney."

"A hackney?" he grimaced. "I have a carriage handy."

It was a tempting offer, and I was getting used to the idea of expensive carriages, but really I wanted to just enjoy the day alone with Maud. Besides, I thought, now that we were assured of being warm there was no reason not to walk outside with her, rather than be hidden inside a carriage. I figured all of London deserved to see us together. I linked my arm through hers.

"D'you know what? I've changed my mind. I think we'll walk instead. We'll start at Bond Street and who knows where we'll go from there, right Maud?"

She hugged my arm and the sparkle in her eyes spoke volumes of her trust in me. We bid him goodbye and left him scratching his head behind us.

It turned out, though, that he did us a favour, for there was a biting wind that day that would have chilled us to the bone if not for those cloaks. Luckily Bond Street was not far, but still I had to put my hand in the pocket inside the cloak for warmth.

"What's this?" I pulled something out. "Of all the bloody cheek!"

"What is it?" asked Maud.

"Look" I handed it to her.

"It's his card," she held it up and read it aloud. "Robert Lloyd. It has an address."

"Check yours," I said. She checked her own pocket but it was empty.

"You see?" I fumed. "He's not even got the decency to ask you proper."

Maud frowned. "I don't understand. Do you think he wants you to call on him?"

"Me?" I snarled. "This is the cloak he tried to give you, Maud!"

"Oh," she muttered with wide eyes. "Perhaps it is a mistake."

"Perhaps," I said darkly. "Or maybe not."

Maud stopped suddenly and looked at me in amusement.

"What're you so happy about?" I demanded of her.

"Why Sue, I do believe you are jealous!"

"Bah," I waved dismissively.

Maud batted her eyes at me. "You thought him a handsome young man, of that I'm certain. I do believe, Miss Lilly, that if I was to call on him you would positively die of jealousy."

"Oh, someone would die, believe me, Maud!" I blurted out, but one look at her face made me break down into laughter at the absurdity of what I said. "Perhaps you're right, Maud. It might have been left there by someone else long ago for all we know."

I put the ugly feeling away from me for the time being. Maud and I had better things to think about that day. I refused to think about Robert Lloyd, even though I knew I was right.

Bond Street is one of the better streets in London, and the sunny day made it particularly attractive that day. The street was regularly cleaned of horseshit. The pavement was wide enough to stroll without having to constantly dodge about to avoid collisions, even with a full skirt. The buildings on either side were substantial and clean, with fine shops facing the street and topped by the better sort of apartments where if you walked beneath you didn't run the risk of someone emptying their pot on your head. In short, it was a place for the rich. In Lant Street you could not walk more than a few feet before you were accosted by someone peddling, or begging, or just plain drunk on spirits. Here, the London Police kept them all away, or put them away if they would not keep their distance on their own accord. We found the dress-shop right where the hotel doorman said it would be. Like most places on Bond Street it was part of a tall building, built of fine stone, with a large window facing the street where the shopkeeper displayed his wares. On Lant Street someone would have smashed it in a minute. Maud gazed wide-eyed at the display of dresses that were fitted on tailor's dummies.

"Have things changed that much?" she asked.

I looked at the window. "What, those narrow skirts? They ain't so different than ours, and you've got to lace yourself ever so tight to keep your figure in em. Not that you'd mind, Maud, but it would kill me for sure."

She laughed and nudged me. "No, I meant those others."

She meant the evening wear that was made from silk of impossibly bright colours. "What those? Those are just for going out to parties and balls; you wouldn't want to wear them on the street, gawd no!"

I laughed, but suddenly pictured in my mind the vision of us dancing together, her in that dress; her arms bare clear to her shoulders, the bodice cut so low in the front it would make you blush, the back of her neck laid bare.

A tug broke me out of my reverie. "You coming, Sue?"

"Sure," I nodded and followed her to the entrance.

"What were you thinking about?" she asked as we passed inside.

I shrugged innocently, "Oh, nothing… got an idea, that's all."

I braced myself for another cold reception from the shop-keeper but was pleasantly surprised. Maybe it was because it was not the Season and business was slow, or maybe Maud's enthusiasm left no doubt that we would be buying, but whatever the reason we were treated like princesses. The proprietor, an elegant man, left us in the care of a seamstress, who had a number of girls helping her who main function, besides fetching things for their employer, seemed to be to flatter me and Maud incessantly. We were there most of the day, but it seemed like only minutes, standing in a private room in front of the tall, angled mirrors, looking at each other in our underthings and being fed tea and biscuits while we were measured.

Maud was a reluctant participant at first, being more mindful of the expense, but I rebuked her, and with the all-to-willing assistance of her attendants, finally convinced her that we had more than enough coin and then some. It warmed me inside to see her indulge her fancy so. The girls then had us try on endless gowns and skirts with different braiding patterns, fringes and frills on them on top of the latest crinolines that were marvellously shaped and so light you'd have thought your legs were bare if you didn't know any better. Jackets and bodices galore were also paraded before us and such was the ingenuity of the shop that the clothes were only slightly sewed in places, so that if Maud especially liked the neckline or waist of one particular bodice, the seamstress could in a flash attach the sleeves or collar from another.

It was while all this was going on that I whispered my idea to the seamstress, picking times where Maud struggled to get a gown over her head, or was off admiring herself in the mirrors, and together we planned something special just for Maud. If she suspected she didn't let on, but I made the seamstress swear not to tell her. I could hardly wait to see Maud's face.

After a while we were finally sated, and could not in all good conscience spend more, even so, we still found ourselves back on the pavement with considerably less money than when we started. We had lost count of all the things we had purchased; far too much to carry, but it was all to be delivered to the hotel in a few days time.

I wasn't really worried about the money. There was plenty more left, enough to keep us from the ignominy of having to go back to Mr Butterworth cap-in-hand after only a few days. So flush did I feel that we had no sooner returned to the hotel than I made the doorman fetch us a hackney so that we could take a turn around Regents Park. The weather was fine, and there were plenty of people and carriages to see in the park, but Maud and I were like giddy young lovers and spent as much time looking into each other's face and laughing as we did taking in the sights.

As luck would have it the fine weather continued for a few more days, chilly but uncommonly clear and sunny. You could even spot a few stars in the night sky; something Maud did not know was almost unheard of. We spent another day exploring the shops in the area, sometimes we asked the hotel staff for directions, other times just seeing what we could find. We ran into no trouble, for we stuck to the area around Mayfair, else we took a hackney to our destination. We bought boots and shoes, new hats and even a pair of cloaks like the ones the hotel provided that I liked so much. All these things we had delivered to our hotel.

By the third day we were exhausted from all the walking and spent the day relaxing in our rooms. During the late afternoon there was a knock on the parlour door and the maid came in.

"Excuse me, Miss, but there's some men come with packages."

Maud looked at me. _More packages? Our dresses maybe_?

"Have them come in," she told her.

We got up from the sofa as two men came in with armfuls of boxes, they were delivery-men hired by the dress shop and were attended by a boy from the hotel, recognizable by his uniform. Maud searched for a place to set them down, but all the tables were too small.

"Place them on the floor by the sofa," Maud directed them.

"There's more outside, Miss," said the boy. "You've been shopping again, then?"

Maud and I didn't answer him, only stared at all the boxes. There were so many of them.

"Everyone's been talking, Miss," said the boy enthusiastically. "All the guests, that is."

I looked at him. He looked quite pleased with himself. Our maid frowned disapprovingly, but it didn't deter the boy one bit.

"Since yesterday they been asking, 'who's all them parcels for?', and I tell em, 'Why, for the young Miss's that's come last week!' After this lot they're all so curious bout the two of you. 'Fraid you'll empty the shops an leave em with nofink for the Season!" he declared riotously.

"Yes, thank-you," I said tersely and gave him and the other men some coins for their trouble (not too much, I remembered). The men touched their caps and left while the boy suddenly remembered something and pulled a slip of paper from his pocket.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I was supposed to give you this," he said. It was a note, and handed it to me smirking, while he waited for a reply. I gave it to Maud.

"It's from the manager," she read.

"We're not in any trouble are we?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Quite the contrary; he's inviting us to dine with the other guests tonight in the hotel dining room."

"Just to satisfy their curiosity? Not bleedin likely!" I huffed. I dismissed the boy but Maud told him to stay.

"What," I stared at her before I exclaimed. "Don't tell me you want to go?"

She shrugged and looked away. "It's… It's just…."

"What? Tell me, Maud."

She turned back to me meekly. "It's just that we are finally in London, Sue, and in the finest hotel I can imagine. If we go back to Briar there will be no occasions to be invited to anything like this, ever."

She looked at me hopefully, but I couldn't meet her eye. I hated to disappoint her but dammit; it was all well and good for her, I thought; she's not the one to be poked fun at for her bad manners, and low speech. Everything about her by comparison was perfect.

She was still entreating me with her eyes so I turned away petulantly, but then I spotted all our parcels piled on the floor, and I remembered that I had the seamstress make something in secret, a surprise I had planned for Maud that was hidden amongst the boxes. I smiled to myself. If we had to face Society, I thought, then why not use the time to good affect and show off Maud as she deserved? It was, in fact, the perfect opportunity. This was her time after all, I reasoned. I sighed and turned to the boy.

"Go tell the manager we accept the invitation," I told him.

As soon as he left, Maud leapt up but I forestalled her.

"I'll do it, but only on condition you let me pick what you'll wear tonight."

Her smile widened but her eyes were sly. "Will you also allow me to choose yours as well?"

Already I was having second thoughts and almost broke down despairingly. "But you'll have to help me through this, Maud. I've never been to a dinner like this before!"

Maud gleefully clapped her hands and then gave me a peck on the cheek. "Don't worry, I promise they will be impressed."

_Impressed with what? What did she mean?_ "Now where are you going?"

Maud turned from the door. "To get the maid to run your bath. You must look your best, you know."

I stared at the empty doorway for a bit before turning my attention to the heap on the floor. Quickly I began to untie strings and peer inside the gold-painted boxes one after another. I knew it was in one of them. Then I saw it, though I had opened the box but a crack; but there was no mistaking the richness of the colour. It was the evening gown I had the woman make special, unbeknownst to Maud.

It was the same as what we saw in the window, what was then called a princess dress. This one had no waist-seam, but was an uninterrupted piece of silk that was fastened behind the neck, halter-style, leaving the back, and arms and especially the front daringly bare. It hugged the body tight to the waist, below which it flared gradually to the floor, but was held smooth with the aid of horsehair stiffening. If that wasn't bold enough, a diagonal slash on the bottom half revealed a bit of the petticoat beneath. I had a special one made up just for this dress. The silk was an impossibly rich colour, which the seamstress swore was because of a new dye process just recently discovered, and that this particular shade, a rich, dark wine-colour, was the rarest of all and would be much sought after by everyone this Season.

When I heard Maud calling me from the bath-room I closed the box and set it aside, behind the sofa, and rose with my heart thudding in my chest in anticipation of the look on everyone's face when we would come down to dinner.

The bath was deliciously warm, and Maud had added a lovely scent to the water. Afterwards, wrapped in a dressing gown, I found Maud in the dressing room waiting by an empty chair with some of the familiar gold boxes at her feet and the same sly look played on her features. I couldn't help but smirk knowing mine would be a surprise.

"I brought you something new to wear tonight," she said placing herself behind me to help comb my hair.

"The jade one, with the lace?" I asked. I figured she'd like that one best out of all my new things.

"No, something better. Open it."

Something better? I tried to see her face but she chose that moment to pull on my hair.

"Ouch, wotchit! Alright, I'll open it," I complained and pulled the box onto my lap.

I opened the lid and poked through several layers of guilt-edged wrappings before I came across a mass of silk in a purple colour I had never seen before.

"What's this?" I said to a stifled giggle behind me.

I didn't recollect having seen it before, but we bought so many things that day I might have forgotten. When I held it up, though, it made my breath catch. "Oh, Maud."

I held it higher. It was an evening gown, much like the one I had bought for her, but different. It was of purple silk, and had short sleeves and a low oval neckline. She must have had it made up special on the sly. I pulled more of it out, and then some more; soon my lap was spilling over like a luxurious waterfall, yards and yards of the most beautiful fabric I had ever held. My eyes welled up. I felt her breath on my neck. "How do you like it?"

"Oh Maud," was all I could say.

Once I had recovered my voice I told her to find the boxes I had hidden behind the sofa. I think Maud guessed what I intended, or maybe I had been betrayed by the seamstress, but knowing I had been beaten to the surprise did nothing to diminish the pleasure either of us had when she opened hers.

"Sue, you really shouldn't have," she said perfunctorily, but I could see she loved it, cause she tried it on right away, and in it she was more breathtaking than I could have imagined. Her arms and neck glowed against the dark silk. I couldn't help but stare. I never knew such a thing as a dress, simple and unadorned, could make me ache inside just to look at her.

My own was a stunner. Like Maud's it was a all apiece, with no waistband or pleating, but the skirt had more fabric to it, lots more, so that it fell to the floor in a glorious cascade. We stood for a whole minute just to admire each other.

I still remember the hush that descended upon the dining room when we made our entrance. The room may have had gilded mouldings or chandeliers laden with crystal, I don't recall; Maud outshone them all. As we followed one of the hotel staff to the long table I heard the muttering and whispers start up but kept my eyes firmly fixed on Maud.

"Who's that?" (A woman's deep voice.)

"I say," (a man's.)

"Did you ever…?" (Another man.)

Maud seemed immune to the talk, but she reassured me with her hand. We paused at the table while I let Maud choose where we would sit, and I took the opportunity to let my eyes sweep over the guests. There were at least twenty of them at our table. The older ladies wore hats adorned with feathers, fruit or even little stuffed birds; the younger ones like us had their heads bare. One girl of no more than ten years had to be prodded she stared at us so.

There were fewer men at the table. Nearest me, three of them had been talking loudly about steam tractors, but abruptly fell silent, and a few more had their heads together whispering, their eyes riveted to Maud, and one moustached man of military bearing regarded me intently over the rim of his wine glass. But it was Maud who was the most beautiful girl in the room. If you asked me, she was the most beautiful girl they had ever seen.

"Sue," Maud gestured to a chair and one of the hotel staff held the chair for me. I grew conscious of their eyes following me as I sat and then worried that they saw the momentary panic in my eyes when Maud left me; but she was only going around the table to take a seat opposite me. She sat, for all appearances relaxed and at home.

Soup was brought to me and I felt my panic return when I could not remember what spoon I should choose, there was a bewildering array of each kind spread before me, but then I felt something touch my foot and knew it was Maud. Looking up she threw me a furtive smile and placed her fingers on the proper spoon in front of her.

The courses came and went, and the longer the evening went on the more I admired Maud for keeping the small talk confined to harmless topics, even when it was apparent that some of the guests were more than a bit curious about us. Maud didn't mind the attention, even when it was from the men at the table, and seemed completely at ease amongst the company. Me, I dreaded the questions, but kept them at bay by keeping my attention on my plate, or my wine glass, but an older woman to my left in heirloom lace kept leaning over trying to catch my eye all evening, to the point where I feared her hat was going to topple onto her plate, so eventually I took pity on her and looked over.

"Your friend says you live in the country," she said in a low voice. "But I assumed by your accent…"

I swallowed and spoke furtively. "I was born a Londoner. I inherited the country house only recently."

"Inherited it; and all that money too?" exploded an eavesdropper beside her. "Whatever will you do with it all?"

I was caught off guard and spoke without thinking; little did I know that everyone was listening.

"I dunno," I said. "What are you doing with yours?"

To this day I swear they must have been drunk, for they acted like it was the wittiest thing they ever heard, and laughed like anything. I looked down at my lap. "Touché, Miss," someone called. Most of all I remembered the touch on my foot and looked up to see Maud smiling at me.

If the evening was measured by the number of men who begged to be allowed to escort us to the stairs then the night was a great success. I was flushed by all the attention, more so because I knew it went right down to my bare neck and arms, but Maud did not give me a chance to decline the offers and took me by the arm to our rooms. There I lay in her arms, sleepy with wine, and wondered whether we were the happiest couple in London.

The next day the fogs came back, and then came loads of rain. We stayed indoors for the entire day with nothing to do, like so many of the days we spent together at Briar, but here it was infinitely worse because we were conscious of all the things we could be doing. By the evening even Maud grew tired of my complaining about it. She left my side on the sofa to slouch in a chair by the fireplace. Then I got an idea.

"Maud, remember that theatre I showed you? D'you fancy going?" I said.

"Tonight? I thought you said it's raining," she glumly watched the cinders crumble.

"We'll take a hackney. We'll hardly need our umbrellas even."

That made her cock an eye in my direction. "The opera, or the other one?"

I made a face. "Not the opera! I meant the comedy playing at The Olympic," I said brightly.

"It is too late to go." she grumbled.

"They'll be silly acting and songs. It'll be a lark," I coaxed her.

It was obvious she was far too comfortable by the fire, like that old dog Charlie Wag, and needed a good kicking. I jumped up and hauled on her arm.

"C'mon and get dressed. These things always start late; it's London after all, not the bleedin country!"

"Ouch, I'm getting up. You will bruise my arm, you brute!" she cried and struck at me good-naturedly.

"Would you rather it be your backside?" I warned and drew back a leg.

She yelped and ran laughing to the dressing room with me in pursuit.

It was dark by the time we were in the hackney, and our progress was slow.

"It's cold," said Maud, rubbing her hands together.

"Should have worn gloves," I said dryly, but Maud pretended not to hear. Funny how things turn out, I thought; Maud was once thought peculiar because she never took her gloves off, now because she never puts them on. I made a mental note to buy her a fur muff; she couldn't object to that, I figured.

We could tell we had arrived by the throng of people on the pavement outside the theatre. The iron gates had been thrown wide and gas lights lit up the facade. Boys held lanterns to help us down from our carriage.

This was not the Drury Theatre, or the Alhambra, let alone Covent Garden; there were plenty of the poorer classes there as well who had saved up their shillings to see the show. We jostled our way inside with the mob to buy our tickets. Plain gingham and corduroy mixed easily with silk and satin. Maybe not entirely so easy. Not everyone had come to see the show.

"Mind yourself, Maud," I warned her. "Remember why I hung about here as a child."

The place was almost full up we were told. We might have to sit in the orchestra. I saw Maud holding gamely on to her hat and warily keeping an eye on the hem of her skirt and I decided on a box. Even I winced at what it cost me, but I justified the expense by telling myself we might never get the chance again.

Once we had paid we were led upstairs to a different part of the theatre by a boy who was dressed like a little soldier. This part was for the swells, I thought ruefully. There was a parlour, or lounge, in this part, that led out to the balcony above the orchestra. Ale and spirits were being served from a counter crowded with couples in fine clothes. A few watched us with curiosity as we passed them to go to the upper level.

It seemed the higher we got the nicer the place became. Wooden floors off the street gave way to polished teak in the parlour and finally to plush carpets in the corridor leading up to the boxes. We were puffing from the climb by the time we got there. I hoped it would be worth it.

There was a red velvet curtain that separated the corridor from the box. Already I could hear the noise of the crowd through it, like the sound of rushing water. Maud looked at me and I could tell she felt the excitement as well. The boy pulled the curtain aside and we stepped into the soft glowing light of another world. Beyond the chairs in front of us there was nothing, just air, and beyond that in the distance we saw the boxes on the far side surrounded by gilded pilasters and ornate mouldings and panels with painted scenes that soared above the crowd below. Then I felt the waft of heat and smoke mixed in with the sharp smell of damp garments, sweat and tobacco. We made our way to our seats near the railing, a railing so low that we feared to fall to our deaths onto the crowd below, which made me and Maud hold on to one another and creep like old crones. As we neared the edge we gaped at the spectacle.

There was something happening everywhere we looked; everyone seemed to be in motion; the crowd surged to and fro up the aisles, hawkers peddled programs, young men and girls waved and shouted to their friends, hats and fans fluttered everywhere like butterflies and the orchestra honked and squeaked while they prepared themselves. The smoky air was electric with anticipation.

Maud's eyes were riveted on the scene. "Is it always like this?"

"And this ain't even one of the larger ones," I boasted.

She looked amused, for she knew I'd never been either.

"I knew people who'd been!" I protested. "And I got to go to some penny gaffs."

"And to think I've missed all this," she speculated softly.

I shook my head. "Mrs Sucksby would've boxed your ears if she found out what you paid for this."

Just then a hush fell over the crowd as the orchestra broke into the prelude. I still remember it to this day, that feeling in your guts when the curtain rises, and Maud's hand gripping mine so tight.

I don't know what I got more pleasure from; watching the performance on the stage, or watching Maud's face during it. The show was a hoot. There was King Henry (I don't know which number) and his great cow of a wife, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine (played by a very fat man), and his beautiful mistress, Rosamund. Poor Rosamund! Every time she got into King Henry's bedchamber the Queen showed up all suspicious and the King made Rosamund hide in the most unlikely of places, the worst being in the earth closet.

The gags were crude; mostly about the King trying to avoid his hairy Queen's advances, or her trying to root out Rosamund, but the crowd roared and called out just the same. I could see Maud taking it all in and beaming at being part of it. We even joined in and sang the chorus of one of the bawdy songs, shoulder to shoulder. Then it was the interval, and we hurried down to the parlour to cool our hoarse throats, this time not minding at all that we were shining and panting.

Despite being reserved for the more expensive tickets there was a crush near the counter and we had to jostle once more in a crowd all trying to buy something to drink. Maud didn't mind much, though; I heard her humming the tune we sung. However, in front of us a large woman in an expensive taffeta gown huffed at her husband over the delay.

"This is intolerable, George," she declared loudly, and snapped her fan with fingers laden with heavy rings. "Why do they allow such people up here?"

"Has something happened?" asked Maud, newly snapped out of her reverie.

"Nothing," I replied. "Just some working men have slipped in."

The woman turned on me. "It's an imposition, that's what it is! They should be thrown out on their ears!"

I was taken aback at first, but there was something in the mannish tone of her voice, or maybe it was the too-heavy rouge she wore, but for a second she looked just like raging Queen Eleanor, hot on the scent of poor Rosamund. Good thing we hadn't got Maud her wine yet, cause it would have spluttered through her nose! I made a vague noise that I hoped sounded like sympathy, cause I was holding my breath. Finally I turned away on the pretence of sneezing, but really it was just to let my laughter out lest I split my stays. Then I noticed a man at my elbow, balancing a pair of wine glasses; I recognized his fine features at once. It was the young man from the hotel who fetched the cloaks for us.

"Hello, aren't you Miss Lilly and Miss Sucksby from the George?" he flashed a smile of white even teeth and even brighter blue eyes.

I was still trying to avoid Eleanor of Aquitaine's dreadful gaze and gave Maud, who was still giggling through her hands, a great nudge. I think both of us were in such high spirits that we couldn't have been serious even it was the Prince of Wales before us. The young man looked patiently amused while we settled ourselves. The large woman regarded us narrowly.

"I see you are enjoying the performance," he added.

I ventured a deep breath. "Yes, are we ever!"

"Perhaps you will remember me. My name is Robert Lloyd."

The very name! I turned on Maud

"I knew it!" I exclaimed triumphantly. "Didn't I say he did it on purpose?"

Before Maud could say anything I pointed an accusing finger at the man.

"Admit it… you slipped your card into the pocket of her cloak."

He looked askance, but no less amused. "I remember I did have a card…, but also that the young ladies I was trying to introduce myself to ran-off before I had the chance. I guess I must have dropped the card quite by accident."

Maud looked at him with mock incredulity. "And that is the explanation you are sticking with, sir?"

"Upon my honour!" he said with mock affront. We laughed. He brushed the hair from his face. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Her Majesty looking aghast at such familiarity with a strange man. Robert caught my eye as well.

"Are you not enjoying the entertainment tonight, Madam?" he asked her.

She regarded him diffidently. "Entertainment, you mean the music… of course it is diverting in its way. It's just… this place."

She shuddered, prompting her husband to growl. "Don't blame me! You wanted to come!"

"We find the society here… well, you know," she wrinkled her nose and looked sideways at me. "We cannot find anyone in London at this time of year, but then again no acquaintance of ours would be caught here."

Maud stiffened. "Perhaps they've been caught elsewhere then. Have you tried Newgate?"

It took the woman a few moments to grasp Maud's meaning. Robert looked highly amused. The woman narrowed her eyes at us, but said nothing.

"Come, dear," the gentleman said shortly, and they moved away in stony silence.

Robert watched their backs for a bit before he spoke. "I do believe that's the second time you ladies have made a scene in so many meetings. I think I see a pattern emerging."

When I tried to object he cut me off. "It was no less than she deserved, but what did she expect coming here? Me, I couldn't wish for a better place. Give me a bellyful of laughs any day over some stuffy Society gathering! I think you would agree with me there, eh Miss Lilly?"

He offered a glass of wine to me but Maud took it from him before I could reach for it. "I think you are being unfair, sir. Susan could hardly disagree if you give this to her. She will be too indebted to you."

She took a long sip and looked at me mischievously over the rim of the glass. I licked my lips I was so parched.

"There," Maud said after draining half my glass. "Susan can answer you impartially now."

"Give it here, Maud!" I tried for her glass but she held it out of my reach. "Oh, you witch!"

Maud laughed while I futilely tried to retrieve the glass. "I think you have your answer, Mr Lloyd. Susan must be confined to music halls because she is incapable of acceptable behaviour!"

"Here, Miss Lilly!" Robert intervened. "Take my other glass before you harm Miss Sucksby."

I took the proffered glass and he looked gratified as Maud and I rubbed shoulders and sipped the wine, flushed and merry. Little did he know that the sparkle in Maud's eye was not on account of any gallantry on his part, but because only the two of us knew we were having him on. Well, let him think what he wants, I thought; we shan't be around much longer to meet him again. Just then a page announced the end of the interval. The crowd began to filter back to their seats.

Maud smiled coquettishly, "It appears, Mr Lloyd, that we must leave without you a second time."

"I will see you another time then; at the Hotel perhaps. Will you be staying there much longer?"

I was about to joke that he'd used up all his chances, but Maud got there first.

"Sue and I have not decided if we are leaving any time soon," she said.

Then the little soldier boy came to lead us back to our box. Robert gave a little bow.

"Then I am sure our paths will cross again. I hope you enjoy the rest of the performance," he said amiably and melted away into the milling crowd. I forgot to thank him for the wine, but then again, I never thanked him for the cloaks either. We returned to our seats.

The rest of the show was even better. Now that we were more warm to it, we sang the choruses with more lust than ever, and laughed all the harder at the gags. Occasionally I looked for Mr Lloyd in the balcony, but there were so many people there it was easy to miss him. When the actors came out to take their bow they gave a particular wave up to our box, which I was convinced was on account of me and Maud being there and was not at all customary.

It was not until we were making the hackney trip back across The Strand, snug together under a rug with Maud's head on my shoulder, that I recalled the words she had used to Mr Lloyd. _If we are leaving…_. Like there was a chance we wouldn't? I wondered if she meant it that way, or simply that she has chosen her words carelessly. It never occurred to me that Maud might not want to go back to Briar. It wasn't like we decided from the onset that we would only stay in London for so many days; and I knew things were different now that we had the money. It was true we could stay for as long as we wanted, but the more I thought about it the more I realised that it was me who did not want to stay. Me; who had always dreamed of being able to show Maud all the delights of the city. Me; the Londoner who had always loathed the country. Perhaps it wasn't Maud at all who had changed her mind about the country; perhaps it was me who had changed more. I found that night I was thinking more and more about Briar. That old wreck. Not including my interest in Maud, I'd never paid much attention to the place before; I hadn't even seen all the rooms yet! For sure, the Inker's were there, and I loved them and all, and I owed Mrs Inker in particular a debt of gratitude for my recovery, but I never thought of the place as mine. I was to blame for that, really, cause I was the one who insisted on remaining Susan Trinder to them all. To the Inkers, and probably everyone in Marlow for that matter, I was just the bleedin maid. But in London I was Miss Lilly to all and sundry, and everyday I wore that name more comfortably on my shoulders, and as the days passed since we got to the City I had come to see that Briar was more than a pile of old stones to me. It wasn't handed to me as a gift, or made over to me on a whim in someone's will; it was mine by right of law. That made a difference. It was like no matter what happened on that fateful day so long ago when my mother stumbled into the shop on Lant Street, no matter what devil's agreement she had put her name on, and no matter what fiendish madhouse Mrs Sucksby conspired to send me to, no one could change the fact that I was the heir to Briar. Someone like Mrs Sucksby could try hard as she like to make me into someone else, but Briar stood like some unbreakable thread between what I was born to, and who I was meant to be.

_What a load of old nonsense_. I shook myself and wondered what was I thinking? The fact was; Maud hadn't said anything to the effect that she didn't want to go. I put it all down to my warm imagination, but I also decided that I wasn't about to risk asking her about it either. I thought, why give her the choice? Only a fool would go about putting ideas in her head, and even if she were already thinking about staying and was herself too afraid to tell me, then it was simply best to let sleeping dogs lie. Better just to leave as soon as I felt ready, I decided, and I'm sure Maud won't say a word to the contrary.

I wrapped my arms tighter around her, and was rewarded with a contented moan as she nuzzled closer against me. I took comfort in the thought that she loved me, and that, London or Briar notwithstanding, nothing else mattered in the world. Besides, I reminded myself, what could possibly go wrong now that we had everything that we wanted?

What could go wrong? If only I had taken a moment to ask Maud that question in the days to follow, I might have been able to take her back to Briar happy, instead of in tears.

We slept late and then woke to more rain hammering against the windows. It might have been another tedious day indoors but for two things; the first was that Maud had discovered that the hotel kept endless back copies of the Illustrated London News on hand for this very purpose, and second; our happy mood from the theatre continued unabated.

"Look at this, Sue," exclaimed Maud, and waved a magazine over head. She had been reading them for hours, it seemed. She lay on the carpet in the parlour surrounded by dozens of copies scattered around her.

"Not another account of what some toff's daughter wore on her wedding day?" I called to her from inside the bedroom where I watched through the open door. "Don't they write about anything else?"

"No," she called back, "I mean yes. Someone has written about what every modern woman needs to know. Are you a modern woman, Sue?"

"I dunno," I wondered if falling in love with a girl made you modern, but didn't have the nerve to say it. "I'd like to think so."

"Well, according to Mrs Blackwell's Guide to Domestic Economy we are practically primitive."

"Domestic what?"

"Domestic Economy; it is the new science of keeping house. There is a list of things that make the modern woman."

"Like what?"

"Like, are you doing enough for your husband… ? It says the modern woman can be a superior helpmate if she improves her domestic skills."

Domestic skills, I thought derisively; I could show them a few skills, but they'd more likely land me in Pentonville than on the cover of the Illustrated News. "Sounds like a load of rubbish."

"She's very keen on women who have learned to keep accounts as well," Maud continued. "Have you been keeping a tight rein on our finances?"

I laughed at a fortunes worth of dresses, petticoats, hats and shoes that was all over the bed. "Sorry Maud, but the money horse bolted right after we got to London. That's your fault you know."

I heard Maud toss the magazine aside. "You're right… rubbish. What are you doing in there?"

I smiled to myself. "Just arranging what we'll wear tonight."

There was a rustle of fabric and Maud came into the room and stared at the clothes I had laid out on the bed. "Why do you have our new evening gowns out; are we going to dinner again?"

I shook my head. "Better."

She looked at me hopefully. "Are we going to the theatre then!"

"No, even better still!" I could hardly contain myself.

"Dancing, Maud!" I exclaimed. "I'm taking you dancing."

If I was expecting fireworks I was disappointed.

"Dancing?" she said slowly. I thought her jaw would drop off. "With you?"

"Who'd you think with?" I snorted.

She reddened. "I thought… I mean, I did not think…"

"You think I'll pawn you off to dance with some young man? Not likely, Maud."

Her eyes bored into mine. "But seriously, Sue. It would be a place where… I mean, it would be… acceptable?"

I laughed, cause the look on her face couldn't have been more astounded if I told her pigs could fly.

She looked abashed. "After Lant Street I thought all those things you and Richard had told me about London were lies."

I took her hand in mine and pulled her closer.

"It weren't no lie; not what I told you at least. I know a place where you and I can dance, and you'd be amazed at what is acceptable there," I told her.

"Amazed," she repeated suspiciously. "What sort of people will we find there?"

"Respectable people," I assured her. "Better than at the theatre even. You'll probably find a Member of Parliament there. Look, if you don't think it's nice enough when we get there I promise we'll turn around and come right back; fair enough?"

I then caught her around her slim waist and then took her other hand and began to lead her awkwardly around the room. "You see, you haven't lost the knack for it."

"I do not want to look foolish, that's all," she said while she watched her feet, but soon I felt her move more easily.

I bent my head closer. "There'll be lots of people there, and everyone will have eyes only for their sweethearts, Maud."

She definitely moved more easily, enough to watch my face. I saw her long lashes flutter.

"You know I have always dreamed of dancing in London," she muttered. "I never thought it would be possible."

"Anything's possible now," I whispered to her.

I wasn't lying when I told her she was likely to meet a Member of Parliament at the Argyll Rooms. I remember Mr Ibbs reciting the scandal one day from a newspaper he was reading. The Member was found there with a well-known prostitute by his wife. Of course just being caught with a prostitute wasn't so unusual, even for a Member of Parliament, but what made it sensational at the time was that his wife was there with a certain well-known Guardsman, who was a frequent patron of the Argyll Rooms himself.

The Argyll Rooms lay just halfway between our hotel in Mayfair and the Seven Dials area of St Giles, and like the location, its patrons also met somewhere halfway in terms of respectability. Gentlemen in search of companionship of a certain kind went there who would never be caught walking the streets of St Giles, or the Borough for that matter. Girls of a certain profession frequented the place in search of rich gentlemen, but they couldn't get in unless they could pass for Ladies. I've heard it on good account that more than one gentleman had fallen for a Duchess there only to find out later that she was nothing but the daughter of a costermonger. Then again, I also heard that more than one respectable prostitute ended up with a private apartment above Grosvenor Street.

It sounds worse than it was. What I knew of the place, back in my days in Lant Street, was that you'd never guess what was going on just by looking at it; to the uninitiated it really was just a splendid place to have a dance. Besides, I thought, after all those books of Mr Lilly's that Maud read, even if she did know what the girls in the Argyll Room were up to, she might find it quite ordinary.

When the hackney pulled up the curb that evening both Maud and I leaned to take a look.

"Are we here?" Maud asked me.

As if in answer the carriage gave a lurch and the driver came round to hand us down. If it weren't for some other people also going inside from their carriages, we might never have recognized the place. It wasn't grand, like the Drury, nor was it brightly lit up on the outside like the George Hotel, but presented us with a plain stone facade entered by a wide double doors that were unadorned except for a brass plaque.

"It's not a ballroom," I said apologetically. "You've got to be invited to get in to one of those."

Maud gave me a crooked smile, "Don't you know any Peers?"

"Only what came out of their houses, Maud," I joked.

Laughter drew our eyes to the couple from the other carriage. An older man in a tall topper escorted a woman across the pavement and inside the building. The woman was hidden by a fur mantle. They stepped lightly across the pavement to where a doorman let them in. As soon as the door opened we could hear the sound of music mixing with the night air.

It looked innocent enough. "How about it Maud?"

She smiled and linked her arm through mine and we went inside.

It was smoky and very warm. A woman took our cloaks and we climbed the broad steps that took us to a large hall. We had to pause at the top of the steps to take it all in.

The room was very large and the ceiling tall enough to accommodate the crystal chandeliers that rivalled those at our hotel. Tropical trees in great pots gave the place an exotic feel, and huge mirrored panels on the wall made it seem even bigger than it already was. The orchestra played on a raised platform and in front of them the dance floor was already crowded despite the early hour. Perhaps it was the tune that drew them. It had already set my foot tapping to the rhythm. I couldn't wait to dance with Maud.

"How about it, Maud?" I almost had to shout above the orchestra.

She swallowed nervously. "Perhaps we could have something to drink first."

I chuckled. "You just got to do it. It'll come to you."

I took her by the arm and she resisted at first but gave in when she saw we were being watched.

I'll never forget that moment when we walked out in front of the orchestra. I had told Maud that no one would take notice of us, but I knew that was a lie if only because she looked so beautiful that night. The silk of her dress was such a dark shade of red that it looked black in some parts, and ruby-red in others, where the light caught it, like the petals of a rose. Her bare arms and shoulders were covered by the sheerest of scarves, almost invisible, so that it did nothing to diminish the glow of her perfect skin.

We threaded our way to the centre of the floor and I squeezed her hand to reassure her.

"Remember that little jig I showed you? This is just the same!"

"I never practiced to music, though," she protested.

There was nothing for it but to make her, so I turned her to face me and put my hand behind her waist. I could feel the muscles of her back like they were carved out of wood.

It was like driving a bleeding wheelbarrow at first, she held herself so rigid, but gradually I could feel her relax as she gave herself over to the music. Then she moved closer to me and over her shoulder I could see the other women looking at us, wondering who I was and why was I deserving of that beauty in the red dress, or so I imagined. Soon we were gliding along just like any of the others. She was light as a feather, as graceful as a swan, and the crystal lights glittered like stars above us. It was perfect.

If the other girls were prostitutes, or if the men were anything other than simply enjoying a night out with their wives and sweethearts, I didn't notice. I had only eyes for Maud that night, and she for me, and at one point during the night she looked at me with eyes shining and I felt her hand on my back pull me closer so she could whisper to me.

"Thank-you, Sue."

I think those days in London made Maud and I fall in love with one another more than ever, if that was even possible, and in the process I think she made me fall in love with London all over again. That night I don't think I ever wanted to go back to Briar, and I might never have if not for the curious thing that happened the next day.

We slept late again, and when we woke my legs were stiff and sore from the hours of dancing the night before. Maud had a notion that day to see the Crystal Palace, but the thought of all that walking about didn't appeal to me, let alone how long it would take to get there. We compromised and decided to see something closer, and settled on the Tower and St Pauls. I figured at least I could sit down in St Pauls while Maud looked around.

We took a guided tour of the Tower like any other tourist. I grew bored pretty quickly of all the Henrys and Edwards and that lot. It's no wonder they were so bloody minded, for they were all marrying their cousins until they were wrong in the head. I only perked up when our guide showed us the block they used to chop heads off. Maud accused me of being morbid. She's one to speak; at St Pauls I rested my sore feet while she went to find dead people buried under the floor, or inside marble statues. Go figure.

We walked away from St Pauls looking for a hackney. We had a notion to pass the Olympic on the way back to the hotel to see if Fair Rosamund was still playing, for Maud had liked it so much she would see it again. This wasn't a bad part of London, but it was so far removed from the world of Mayfair that I was surprised how much I'd grown used to life at The George. Worse was when we passed a shockingly poor girl selling cress. When she looked like she might come near us I warned Maud to stay clear of her. There was a time when I might have scorned that girl for being so poor, for being so witless she was reduced to practically begging, but after we passed her I scorned myself for being so able to help her, but too cowardly to try.

Next we passed some children playing with a little bird that was tied to a string. A man with a cage was selling the poor things for tuppence.

"D'you care for a bird, Maud? They sell them on Lant Street, too."

Maud shook her head. "I should lose it."

"It's on a string," I explained. Maud stopped and watched the children playing.

"I would untie it, and it would probably fly away."

I snorted. "Don't untie it then."

"I would," she said suddenly serious. "I don't believe I could keep it tied. I think it should want it to stay by me on its own volition, not because I had shackled it too me."

I smiled and shook my head at her, for at the time I thought it was a silly thing to say.

How different The Olympic theatre looked during the day when there was no crowd outside. A theatre without people is a lonely thing, I thought. There was a boy in shirtsleeves and a cap sitting at the base of one of the pillars, when we pulled up to the pavement.

"Hullo, …boy?" said Maud. He looked up sullenly and by his expression I knew it was the same scrap of a lad as when we passed by on the way to the lawyers..

"What?"

"Is the show still playing tonight; Fair Rosamund?"

He scratched at his arm and squinted at us. "Well, yeah, it's still playing like, just not tonight."

"Not tonight?" Maud looked at me, crestfallen.

"The lead… he was called out of town, or something, I dunno. They're back tomorrow then," said the boy. He slumped back against the pillar.

"Oh," she shrugged at me. "Perhaps tomorrow then."

I leaned forward to speak with the boy. "Hey! Is there nothing playing tonight?"

He scowled. "I told you, it's been cancelled! They're just doing dress rehearsals for the new acts today."

I raised my brow. "New shows?"

"What do I look like? Look, if you want to see what's going on you can see for yourself. It's open, and won't cost you a thing. Go round to the stage door."

I looked at Maud. I could tell she was thinking the same thing; that we weren't doing anything else. Besides, I was intrigued by the thought of seeing the inside of the theatre when it was empty. We paid off the cabman and went down the alley beside the theatre.

The way wasn't as terrible as I thought, for I guessed that the actors and stage hands used it all the time. It wasn't wide enough, though, for the two of us to walk side by side and Maud followed close behind.

"Stop pawing at me for God's sake!" I admonished her.

"I am simply trying to see. Are you sure this is the way?" she worried.

Up ahead two girls were lounging in the alley behind some rubbish bins. They had on similar plain tough-looking muslin frocks; one had her hair done up in a scarf while the other had left her head uncovered, letting her reddish hair fall about her shoulders. They might have been actresses, or just stage-hands; I couldn't tell. The red haired girl dragged on a cigarette and they both regarded us appraisingly.

"Doors right here, luv," stated the one with the cigarette when I hesitated.

I gave a half smile and went for the door, feeling their eyes on me and Maud. They held the door open for us and I paused at the entrance to let my eyes adjust to the darkness within. I looked back in time to see the girl with the scarf borrow her friend's cigarette. She blew a long cloud of smoke upwards then smiled at me.

"Go on," she said encouragingly. "She's in there."

I didn't know who she was referring to but 'in there' turned out to be a maze of cramped little corridors, made hazardous by iron pipes overhead and props and furniture on the floor. There was very little light and we would have never known where to go if not for the sound of voices and a piano somewhere ahead of us. I held Maud's hand and stepped gingerly until we saw the light and entered the theatre hall from behind a curtain, at the foot of the stage. The theatre was darkened with the exception of a couple lanterns on the stage, so that where the audience would sit was the darkest of all, and the ceiling was black like the night sky.

A young man sat at the piano on stage, beside him stood some girl in a tattered print dress. She might have been some poor cleaning-servant. They were taking directions from man wearing a bowler hat, and braces over shirtsleeves. I could see the sweat beneath the arms of his shirt.

"That was fine, Anne," he said in a deep booming voice. The sound echoed oddly in the empty hall. "Really good! But hold that position at the end. Billy, repeat those notes at the end of the line, like this!"

The man sang out the notes and made a pounding gesture with his hands and the piano-man grinned and nodded.

"Sure Mr Howard," he said and with a pencil made a note on the sheets of music before him.

We crept in a little further to see some more. The stage was very plain, with no backdrops or props, just the piano and a black curtain. I sighed, cause I was hoping for something a little more entertaining than watching someone's lessons. Mr Howard caught sight of us out of the corner of his eye and waved us in. I jumped in fright, but he had a ruddy complexion that made his plump cheeks look rosy and his smile looked friendly enough.

"Eh, who's that? More bloody girls. Take a seat why don't you? Go on." he said good-naturedly and winked to the piano-man. "You see, Bobby, word has spread already. She's going to be a star!"

There was nothing for it but to see what all the fuss was about. We stole in quietly and went up the aisle to find an inconspicuous place to sit. It was then I noticed we were not alone. In the near darkness there were other people already seated in the theatre. Most, I guessed, must work for the theatre, judging by their working clothes. There were young men in dungarees lounging with their legs thrown carelessly over the backs of the seats in front of them, and women who wore durable looking frocks and aprons looking bored. There were a few actors as well near the front as well, dressed in bold costumes, waiting their turn, but further towards the back there were many more people sitting there in pairs or in threes. In the near darkness I could see the light from the stage glittering in their eyes expectantly. They were visitors like ourselves; I could tell cause they had their coats and hats with them. What was odd was that it appeared that they were all girls, at least as far as I could tell. We found a spot among them and sat quietly.

"We'll start again from the last part, Bobby, right?" boomed Mr Howard.

Bobby, at the piano, stuck the pencil behind his ear, pulled down his cap and started playing a lively tune. The girl in the soiled frock then skipped to center stage and started singing in a beautifully high and clear voice. Maud gave a delighted laugh. The girl was obviously an actress and the frock had been only a costume. The song was a ridiculous thing about how she could put up with being dirt poor so long as her young man was with her, or something like that. It was a nice enough song but I didn't think it was about to set London on fire.

Partway through her song she was joined onstage by her young man, who was played by fresh-faced boy, who pretended to come up on her unawares. He was so slight and fair that I was wondering if we'd stumbled upon some children's show. I doubt he had ever needed to shave even. I was about to suggest to Maud that we move on when the boy came up slyly behind the girl and began to mimic her walk, and the way she moved her hips and arms. It was remarkable really, the way he could mimic the way she moved. Then he began to sing with her.

He sang like an angel! It was a high voice; not as high as hers, but very pure, so that they complimented one another perfectly. I heard Maud gasp and when I looked at her she had her hands to her mouth. I had to look quickly to the stage in case I missed something.

"What is it Maud," I hissed at her.

She gasped again and bit at the side of her hand, completely speechless. I looked back at the stage, peeved that I couldn't see what Maud found so fascinating. What was so special about some little nancy that could walk and talk like a girl? Then it hit me; what was so obvious once you knew it; he really was a girl!

She was wearing trousers of all things, like any boy would, but with fine stripes on them; and once you knew it weren't no boy you could tell they'd been ingeniously made to fit her. Her waistcoat too, had been altered to fit tight to her waist yet flare out where they met her hips. I found it quite attractive in its own way.

Then the song changed a bit and she, the boy, swaggered and strutted like any boy I had seen on the London streets trying to impress a girl. I looked at Maud and saw she still had her hand to her mouth, like she was quite intoxicated by the spectacle. Then they stopped for the day.

Maud and I sat there; disappointed we had not seen more. We watched the theatre people drifting back to work behind the stage, but the rest were heading the other way. We craned our necks to the back of the theatre to see where they were going. A girl in a faded, flowered cotton frock saw us.

"Are you coming to the party?" she asked. She had her hair tied back with a scarf but still her pretty yellow curls spilled onto her shoulders.

Maud knitted her brow. "There is a party?"

The girl smiled. "To celebrate the start of Lucy's show."

"I am afraid we have not been invited," Maud sighed, but the girl laughed.

"Invited? How queer you are! It's just us friends getting together. C'mon."

We followed her up to the same parlour where we had met Robert Lloyd during Fair Rosamund just two nights earlier. The gas-lights were not lit, but candles burned on the counter where they served drinks. The others from the hall were already there. They were all talking excitedly about theatre things and laughing like old friends and did not notice when we came in. I figured they all must have met through the acting business. I wandered over to the counter, for I saw everyone was drinking ale, and got one myself. Together, Maud and I were content to stand there a look about the room wide-eyed. What odd girls these actresses were, I thought. Listening to their conversation they weren't coarse at all, but many of them wore such plain things, and let their hair lie loose, like the girl we saw in the alley. A lot of them even smoked cigarettes, which I'm sure weren't tolerated among the girls of Lant Street in even the lowest of families.

"Hullo there," said a rich voice nearby.

We turned and found the actress, Lucy, beside us along with the girl in the flowered dress. Lucy still had on her costume, including a cloth cap under which I could tell that her hair was not done up, but was cropped short, like a man's, so that it barely fell below her ears. Up close I saw she was older than me and Maud. Her face was so lean that the candlelight threw shadows from the edges of her cheeks and jaw, and the rest of her was very thin as well, so that even her bosom wasn't enough to fill out the waistcoat she wore. But that was part of what made her such a convincing boy. It was hard not to stare, but she seemed used to the attention and greeted us warmly.

"I'm Lucy Stamford," she smiled and touched her friend's arm. "And this here is Tess. Tess said she saw you watching and thought you'd like to join us."

I introduced me and Maud then nodded to Tess. "She said this was a party?"

Lucy scoffed. "Isn't so much a party than a chance to get together. None of us working girls have a flop big enough to hold us, and the public house ain't a place for girls like us. We got to take what we can get in this business, while the getting's good."

_Girls like u_s? I looked curiously at the girls who were gathered in a loose group. The red-headed girl we met at the door was watching us from a distance, while the others talked and laughed. They were hard-working girls in plain dresses; some of them might have work as servants, or on a factory floor or a shop somewhere. A few were very pretty and might have worked in the theatre, or at one of the Bond Street shops Maud and I visited. To be frank they didn't seem all that special that they wouldn't look perfectly at home drinking ale and smoking cigarettes in a public house. I thought rather it was me and Maud who looked out of place in the room, with our fancy dresses that they could never afford, but Lucy did not seem to notice.

"So how did you find us? Tess thought I might've invited you along." she said.

The other girl laughed and slid her arm casually through Lucy's. "I just asked Luce here if she'd been secretly singing at Covent Garden and brought the two of you home with her."

"More like their carriage broke down and they just come in to get out of the rain," said the red-haired girl from behind Tess. She looked disdainfully at me while she blew smoke into the air. Lucy looked about to admonish her but I forestalled her.

"You'd not find Maud and I at Covent Garden," I said, trying to find some common ground with them. "But if you'd tried the Argyll Rooms that would be different, eh Maud?"

Maud's eyes shone at the memory, but I saw Lucy and Tess look at each other meaningfully, while the other girl clucked her tongue.

"The Argyll Rooms?" she said thoughtfully and then slowly smiled. "P'raps I misjudged you. What were you doing there,… working?"

"Stop it Sissy," admonished Tess. "It's none of your business."

Lucy, though, looked at Maud with new interest. "Well, I'm glad you and Miss Lilly are here, Miss Sucksby; I hope you'll both come when we open for real next week."

The red-headed girl twisted her mouth. "Not top billing, mind you; that's still a man's realm."

"Not long though; the buggers better watch out cause us girls are coming through!" Tess tossed her curls adoringly in Lucy's direction.

"Stop it, all of you!" begged Lucy. "I've not even got started. For all you know I'll get laughed off the stage."

"I do not think so," Maud said suddenly. "I think you are wonderful."

Lucy laughed; a marvellously musical laugh. "Come off it, you hardly heard any of it! No, when you've been at it as long as I have you learn not to get your hopes up. There are hundreds of girls out there singing their hearts out, all trying to get noticed. I'm just one of them. I just thought up this rig so I would stand out of the crowd."

Her friend, Tess, winked at us. "Don't believe a word she said. She's got a knack for it that will make everybody take notice."

"Listen to you," Lucy waved her away dismissively.

"It's true!" she told us. "Ever since I knew Luce she always got the boy's parts in the Christmas panto. She makes a better boy than the real thing any day; you know what I mean? You should see us parading down Oxford Street with Lucy dressed up in trousers like we're the happy couple, and no one the wiser."

"Tess," she said warningly.

"Oh, don't worry. They understand!" Tess squeezed Lucy to her to make the point, but Lucy wriggled free.

"I was only play-acting mind you," Lucy explained, red-faced.

Then we heard someone call to Lucy and she excused herself and Tess followed on her heels, but first she reached out and touched Maud's hand.

"Got to go!" she called over her shoulder. "Do say you'll come next week! We'll get together somewhere after the show to celebrate. I knew when I saw the two of you together that I'd like you!"

Maud watched the two of them return to their friends and when she turned to me her eyes were bright with anticipation. She seized my hands in hers.

"I can hardly wait to see it. Tell me we will go, Sue," she implored.

"I dunno, Maud," I said. "We'll have to go back some day."

"Go back?" she sounded incredulous and let my hands drop. "But why do you want to go back now?"

"I dunno, Maud, it's like-"

"We have got to stay, Sue," she pleaded. "At least until after Lucy's show opens. I am sure it will be something we will never forget. Besides, we just met her friends and they are just like us. Do you not find that thrilling?"

"Thrilling?" I asked, all a sudden uneasy, but Maud didn't notice.

"Do you not find it so, just knowing that there are other girls just like us, Sue?" she said dreamily.

_Girls like us_? Of course I knew that Lucy and that girl Tess were sweet on each other, they were all like that, I guessed. Anyone could see that. But I asked myself, since when did Maud think there was more than just her and me; since when did I become just one of many? Maud took my arm and pulled me aside, out of earshot of the others.

"I am so glad we came here today, Sue. It is yet another marvel of London that you have shown me. I knew that girls like us were bound to be found in London. I supposed I had my doubts before; you cannot always believe everything you read in books you know; but to find a whole society of like-minded women, here at the theatre, was beyond my expectations. You know, I have a mind to invite them to our parlour after Lucy's show next week. It would be a wonderful way to get better acquainted with them. Do you not think so?"

_Girls like us_. I had turned my face to the shadows so Maud could not see the expression on my face, which must have been awful. I fought against the sudden urge to leave the room, to get away that place, to leave London even! I tried to admonish myself for giving in so easily to my warm imagination. Hadn't she professed her love for me at the lawyers, I asked myself? But that was before she had found them; these girls just like us, I thought bitterly.

"Sue?" she asked, and I closed my eyes.

I believe everyone can change, but try as we might there are some things you can't leave behind, or walk away from even, because they are a part of you. Perhaps it was that way with Maud. Perhaps she had worked so long on that great book of Mr Lilly's that a bit of it stayed with her, like a seed, just waiting for the right time to sprout anew. It had been Mr Lilly's life's work, after all, and he had tried his hardest to plant the seed and make it her life as well. Maybe that was his legacy.

I know I wanted to believe that she loved me the same as before. I wanted to believe we loved each other like no other two people on this world ever could; but as soon as I heard her say, 'girls like us', it was like Mr Lilly's ghost had come between us, bearing the great book that she had written with her own hand.

"Is something wrong, Sue?" I felt her hand on my shoulder. My own hand went to my mouth like I was about to be sick.

I thought she loved me like I loved her, but maybe she didn't. Maybe she figured whatever was between us was no different than what we had in common with the rest of them girls. Maybe all she felt for me was written in the great Index, a small entry in the chapter that might have been called The Perversions of Women Who Derive Pleasure from Women.

I should have said something, if only to ease my fevered mind, to give her the chance to explain. I should have told her what I felt, but I didn't dare. I couldn't ever make her feel obliged to give up the company she wanted to keep. How could I? She was the bird that couldn't be tied by a string, but must be free to come willingly, or else fly away.

"What is it?" she asked again.

"Nothing," I finally said in a strange voice. I struggled for an explanation. "I think this ale doesn't agree with me. Perhaps, Maud, we should go back to the hotel now."

She frowned and her eyes searched me face, and I was afraid all my horrid thoughts were laid bare there; but then she nodded. I gave her a wane smile.

"… but tell them first that they can come to our rooms next week if they like," I said, and the words were as hard to say as the lies I told her on Gentleman's behalf.

"Oh Sue, we can throw a real party!" she exclaimed and kissed me before she ran off across the room. I watched her explain her proposal in an excited voice to the girls across the room and felt my stomach confirm that it didn't really like the ale after all.

The next day was grey with the promise of hard rain. I spent a considerable time blindly staring out the window to where the men tended to the horses that were stabled behind the hotel. I was trying not to dwell on what happened the other day at the theatre. Believe it or not, I felt much better after I had slept on it. Waking with Maud beside me, and our familiar routine in the morning, helped to dispel the doubts that had gnawed at my insides the night before. It dispelled them, but could not make them go away entirely. Maud's preparations for the party were a constant reminder that the longer we stayed in London, the greater the chance that she would find something or someone that interested her more than I ever could. Maybe not today, and maybe not even after the party, but I feared it was just a matter of time.

Maud did not notice my lethargy that day, for she was occupied arranging for food to be sent up, and extra servants to be provided, for the big day. I scanned her features each time she passed to and fro through the parlour, like the worried glances at the sky before an approaching storm. I was not sure what I was looking for, but decided it would be better if I stirred myself rather than dwell too much on my thoughts. I sought Maud out and found her in the dining room consulting with our maid about the best way to manage the extra help and accommodate the guests we were expecting.

"Tell em not to snuff out their cigarettes on the carpets." I said sourly.

They turned at my interruption and Maud came over to me.

"I have been neglecting you awfully, haven't I?" she said and took my hands in hers while looking at me tenderly. "It must be this weather. Everything looks so bleak outside; I must say that when it rains the city fairs far worse in this respect than the country."

Funny, but I found it heartening to hear her disparage the city, but if I thought she was about to suggest we leave for Briar I was disappointed.

"We will have to do something indoors then," she said. "How about we go back to the Olympic? We could see if that comedy is playing again."

"No, not that!" I blurted out. In my state of mind the thought that we might find those girls there was unbearable. I tried not to imagine that by suggesting it she was even hoping for it to happen.

I gave a nervous laugh. "What I meant was that it may still be cancelled, and besides, we'll be going there soon enough anyways, right?"

I swallowed and her eyes were hard and her voice flat. "So what do you suggest, Sue?"

What I wanted was to have her all to myself. It was a selfish thing, I admit, but it was the only thing I could think of to cure me of my unease.

"How bout we go dancing again?" I suggested.

I looked at her hopefully but any prodding was unnecessary. She thought about it, and then a delicious smile emerged on her features.

"You will take me dancing again; even with my clumsy feet?"

I pursed my lips and looked askance. "I just like to be seen with the most beautiful girl in the room; even if she does dance like a coal-heaver."

Her eyes flashed and I laughed when she tried to strike me and chased me around the table in sight of our bemused maid.

We arrived at the Argyll Rooms much later than previously, and as a consequence found it much more crowded than before, and smoky.

"Christ!" I said over the sound of the music. "The place could be burning down around us and you'd never know it."

"We'll have the maid get the smoke out tomorrow," Maud sensibly suggested.

She looked radiant in her dress tonight. I had bought her a small velvet hat that was black except for a single scarlet feather for colour. It perched askew on her head and perfectly brought out the colour of her hair and the silkiness of her bare neck and shoulders.

This time Maud led me out in front of the orchestra, and I smiled to myself as the couples made a path out of respect for her beauty. We danced through two songs from the sweating orchestra before we stopped and I fetched some water for us. While we drank I noticed some gentleman nearby openly admiring us. They were older, and judging by the cut of their jackets were not the ordinary jumped up clerks that frequented the place with their sweethearts but the real thing; rich gentlemen in search of easy women. Urged by his fellow, one approached Maud.

"I say, would you two care to share a dance with me and my friend there?"

I snorted, and was about to advise Maud that he wanted something entirely different, when she took my hand and batted her long lashes at the man.

"I am very sorry, sir, but our dance cards are quite full," she said impishly and led me back among the dancers, leaving the frustrated old goat scratching his head.

"You are quite the devil tonight," I told her above the sound of the orchestra.

She put her arm around me and pulled me to her to speak into my ear. "You taught me all the steps."

Just then the music changed. "It's a waltz, Maud! I exclaimed.

I took her hand. "Remember, we step in three's."

The music was sprightly and we moved fast around the edge of the dance floor. My breath came fast and Maud's face was shining in the midst of the swirling lights about us.

All a sudden Maud skidded to a halt."

"Christ, Maud," I panted, still leaning on her. "I almost fell over you. What is it?"

But she wasn't listening, rather she had half turned away toward a table not three paces away from us where a group of gentlemen sat.

"Miss, Lilly?" a man called to me.

His tone was incredulous. I was taken aback, not just because he was a complete stranger, but because he looked so repellent to me. He was an old man, but fat, with a sweaty, florid complexion that featured large fleshy lips and a broad, lumpy nose covered in red splotches. Even his ears seemed loose and heavy. What revolted me most was the girl who sat close beside him with one arm around his neck, and the other in his lap. A very young girl.

"Miss Lilly?" he said again.

"What?" I said, but then I saw that he weren't speaking to me. It was Maud. I looked at her but she seemed frozen in place with one hand clutched just beneath her throat, so tight I saw the skin on her knuckles was white. She swallowed convulsively, but said nothing.

The fat man then pushed the girl off his lap unceremoniously and turned to the company at his table. I grimaced at the sight of his shirt that had come loose and was hanging down over his trousers.

"D'you know these people, Maud?" I asked her quietly.

With a grunt, the man addressed his table. "Why this is the girl! It's Miss Lilly, Christopher's niece."

Christopher, he said. _Maud was his niece?_ I figured he must have meant my uncle, Mr Lilly. I was afraid of what he might know about my Maud.

"D'you know him Maud?" I asked her again. She was so still I began to be afraid for her, but then she shook her head in a jerking movement. There was a laugh from the table and to my horror I saw everyone was staring at Maud with their dissolute faces gleaming with drink, and all a sudden I knew them for what they were. They must be Mr. Lilly's friends that dealt in dirty books, I thought; Maud had mentioned them to me once. That night they had all been drinking heavily, and some had their neckties undone, or their waistcoats were open. More young girls were squeezed between them so close you couldn't tell which gentleman they were with. Maybe it didn't matter to them.

It was their look that disturbed me, though. Their eyes wore that hungry expression I'd seen often enough on some men rooting about the Borough to know what they were looking for, but never had I seen it directed towards my Maud. I wished I had something to cover her bare arms with. To be so exposed in front of these degenerates was awful.

"You were right, Mr Huss; she is a beauty," commented one man, like he was talking of horses. I gathered the fat man was this Mr Huss. I tried to remember what Maud had said about him but couldn't recall anything. I wished I had paid more attention to that part of her life.

Mr Huss licked his lips disgustingly. Even his voice had some odious quality to it. He said. "I've wondered what became of you since Chris died. Did you get my letters? I have to tell you I will never forget those times I spent in your company, my dear."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing! Maud swayed slightly and I clutched her arm to steady her. She didn't speak, nor even blush, but instead her colour changed to a deathly pallor. Mr Huss leaned closer, and the reek of corruption surrounded him.

"Come now, Miss Lilly," he growled. "No need to play shy. My friends are all eager to be acquainted with you, just like I was; perhaps better maybe… now that Chris is not around to stay my hand."

I was sickened into silence and could only tug at her arm, anything to get her away. I felt the man's eyes on me, like the drippings from a monster.

"I see you've found your own pleasures since then," he crooned. "No matter. We could come to an arrangement. Chris kept you very poorly, didn't he, dear? I could make it very worth your while."

His hand searched inside his garments. I think he was actually reaching for his pocketbook! This seemed to finally snap Maud out of her trance. Staring sightlessly she turned and slammed into me, and then started clawing with her hands like a trapped animal trying to escape. I grasped her wrists and pulled her.

"Maud it's me," I whispered fiercely. "C'mon Maud, let me take you out of here!"

I led her stumbling away, pressed against me.

"Maud… Miss Lilly, wait!" I heard him shout behind us. "Come here you stupid bitch!"

It was then that the worst thing happened. At the call of her name, almost everyone in the room stopped to stare at us. I looked around and saw them, those terrible looks; and I knew that they looked not out of curiosity, or mirth or even out of outright ridicule, those I might have withstood. No, they looked at Maud out of recognition. Somehow, up and down the gutters of London, Maud had become famous.

I heard the sound of her name on the voices that I could hear over the music. Maud must have heard them too, 'cause her grip on me became painful and when she spoke it was like she was choking.

"What?" I said bending to her. Her eye were glazed.

"Take me home, Sue," she muttered.

"Of course, luv, that's what I'm doing," I tried to sound comforting, but my chest was so tight it was like my own heart had stopped.

I retrieved our cloaks at the entrance and struggled to draw one around Maud's shoulders, for she clung to me like an infant. By the time I got an arm around her and was at the door I noticed a curious crowd was following us to the pavement. I wanted to scream at them to mind their own bleedin business, but I feared what would happen to Maud if she knew so many of them were there.

"Maud," I spoke fervently. "I need you to walk, now. We'll get a hackney somewhere down the street. Please, Maud!"

I didn't need to urge her for she obeyed automatically. I don't think she saw the crowd following; I don't think she was aware of anything at that point. There was a fine drizzle outside that at any other time would have felt refreshing against my fevered cheeks. It served to turn back our pursuers. We walked quickly, oblivious to the muck that collected on our shoes and soaked our stockings. Maud still stared with unseeing eyes and her pallor frightened me.

On Regent Street I hailed a hackney cab.

"The George Hotel, do you know it?" I cried.

"Course, Miss," said the driver.

"Quickly, then. There'll be extra for you." I told him.

He gave Maud a worried glance as he handed us up into the carriage.

As soon as we sat she leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. I put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

"Oh, Maud," I sighed miserably, more to myself than anyone. I expected to feel her shoulders heaving but there was nothing. Indeed she held herself chillingly rigid and still, with no sound of crying and little signs of breath. So long did she hold this pose that I began to prod and pull at her.

"Oh, Maud, speak to me! Let me see you," I cried, but she kept up her strange rigor. I tried to see her face but could not prise her hands away nor lift her head up. I looked around wildly, stifling the desire to start screaming for a doctor and begging the carriage to hasten us to the hotel.

"Take me home, Sue," she muttered at last. I sighed out of relief.

"I am, luv," I insisted. "I'm taking you back to the hotel as fast as-"

She shook her head. "Home… back to Briar."

"Briar?" I cried louder than I ought, for that was the last place I thought she'd want to go, but then it came from me that she was not being driven out of the Argyll Rooms, but out of London itself

"Briar," she muttered. "Take me home."

I pulled her against me and crushed her in my arms, not only to comfort her, but also because her face frightened me. She looked dreadful, like a bully had beat her. Her sockets looked black, and the marks where her hands had been were like dark bruises, but worst of all were her eyes; she had not a single tear in them and all I saw was a terrible dry bleakness.

"Oh Maud," I choked out the words while I rocked her like a baby. "Of course I'll take you home. I'll take you anywhere in the world."

I had wanted to make Maud leave London and return with me to Briar, but I would have given anything that night to have her stay and be happy at my expense rather than see her driven out like that. Maud would not sleep that night, but sat rigidly on the sofa all night long watching the coals turn to dust. I made her sip some wine, and rubbed her hands and face, in a vain attempt to get some of her colour back. I tried to console her but everything I said was awkward and shallow because even I was still in shock from the horror of the episode. Anyway, she never made a reply at all. The only time she acknowledged me was when she nodded after I asked her once and for all whether she still had her heart set on leaving.

I packed a single bag, and then I paid the bill for the rooms as soon as I could find someone who would accept my money. I offered no explanation for leaving, but simply bid them send all our things after us to Briar. Our maid cried to see Maud so changed, but I was thankful she didn't mention the party. I paid one of the boys to fetch a fast coach, and to see that no one interfered with our leaving, then I bundled Maud into a cloak and took her to Paddington Station.

I paid for a private compartment, and told the guard on the train not to disturb us until we reached Maidenhead. It was not until the train gave a lurch and passed out from under the station's great glass ceiling and into the light of day that Maud finally gave a sob and a shudder. I pulled her head to my chest, and as London fell away she gave a great wracking shudder and then released all her tears onto me in a flood that lasted all the way to Maidenhead.

We arrived at Briar near supper, amid much consternation and concern from the Inkers, but I implored them to make tea, not a bloody fuss. Then I stopped and stood before the cracked and buckled doors of Briar with my arm supporting Maud and surveyed her gaunt, tear-stained face.

"Well Maud, I guess we're back where we started," I said, and despite everything she still managed a faint smile for me.


	2. Chapter 2

********************Part Two ***************************

I wrapped the shawl tight about my shoulders when I stepped outside that day. The quiet air was as still as midnight and in the dull morning light my breath made little fog patches that followed me everywhere. I stepped gingerly across the gravel drive in my thin slippers and passed the broken watering trough where the puddle's skin of ice reflected the house and the grey clouds in strange fractures. I found what I was looking for at the corner of the house, where the gravel gave way to a grassy path. Someone had walked in the grass before me and melted the delicate coating of frost into the shape of a shoe that was a bit smaller than my own. I followed the footsteps that led away from the drive and disappeared towards the back garden between the tall unkempt shrubs that reached out from the borders on either side of the path. I stopped every so often and listened for sound, 'cause with each step I only heard the crunch of my own slippers as they crushed the brittle blades like glass beneath my feet. Maud's footprints led resolutely toward the back of the house and I followed them until I heard the answering sound of feet on the crisp footpath. Someone was coming my way and I shivered a bit as I steeled myself to face her once more. How things had changed between us.

Since we got back from London I often found that I woke to an empty bed, or I would retire at night to our rooms only to find her missing. Sometimes I discovered her reading in the library, or wandering aimlessly the grounds around the house. Sometimes her eyes were still red-rimmed, or her face was wet even, but she wouldn't tell me what was on her mind, just like she would never weep before me. Her grief had become a solitary thing, and because of it, so had I. The fact was that I was far too afraid to say anything that would remind her of what happened in London. Instead, I tried to carry on as usual, as if nothing happened. Perhaps that was a mistake, 'cause one day it all came out.

I shiver to remember it. It was not a week after we returned. I had found her in our dressing room, struggling to reach the back of her dress.

"Here you are, Maud; let me help you," I said as I crossed to her.

"I can manage," she said curtly.

I flinched but fastened the hooks for her anyway and then sat her in a chair and began brushing her hair. I tried to think of something to say but conversation no longer came easy to me. Everything I did; everything I said, seemed to remind us of what had changed since that night at the Argyll Rooms. The silence drew on interminably, while she jerked her head against each stroke of the brush, savagely forcing it through.

"I could wash it for you," I suggested meekly. "P'raps a little vinegar to make it shine."

She shrugged my hand off her shoulder irritably. "You should not have to do this at all, Sue. In fact, I have been thinking we might engage a maid to do these things."

"What, a maid?" I said half-joking. "For God's sake, why?"

"I do not think it is fitting any more," she declared.

"Get on!" I sniggered. "I've always done it. I don't mind, I like it."

Maud turned suddenly and her eyes looked so dark and fathomless that my smile died on my lips. I heard my breath catch and felt a hard knot growing in the pit of my stomach.

"You are not a maid," she said ominously. "You are the mistress of Briar now, and the Inkers will expect you to behave accordingly."

"The Inkers," I tried to sound dismissive. "But they're like family, almost."

"Then everyone else then," she said searchingly. "The villagers then."

"What, in Marlow?" I tried to laugh. It came off as snide as a lead sovereign. "They don't know us from Adam. Besides, they don't even come round here."

"Just because we do not see them every day does not mean they do not exist!" she spat the words at my startled face. I swallowed hard and regretted trying to make light of it all. "There is Society out there, Sue, even beyond the river, and we are expected to behave a certain way."

"Since when-," I began but stopped myself. I was about to say since when had she begun to worry what anyone thought about her; but the answer was too obvious, and too painful to give words to. Maud read my face and turned away with a dark look on her features.

I sighed and set the brush aside and sank to the floor in front of her chair so I could hold her hands in her lap. They felt as rigid as dead bones. She pulled one free to bite at her thumbnail while she gazed impatiently out the window, avoiding my entreating eyes.

"We can always go back to London," I told her, but even naming it made her head jerk like I had struck her. I tried to sooth her. "People 'ave got short memories. I'm certain they'll soon forget all about you, right? Meantime, it's not so hard waiting here, is it? I mean, we'd only have to endure-"

"Endure!" she exploded, standing up so sudden I almost fell backwards. Her skirt swirled noisily as she whirled on me with her back to the window. Her eyes were like coals.

"Do not speak to me of enduring! I am an expert at it. I'm sick of it!" she said and before I could rise or open my mouth she turned away dismissively and began pacing restlessly by the window, glaring through the mullions like they were prison bars, chafing to be beyond the draughty, peeling room; past the borders and trees to where she imagined the forbidden pleasures of London lay out of sight. All the joys that she thought were plainly absent in Briar.

I opened my mouth then closed it again. What could I have said to comfort her? What spell could undo what had happened? To tell the truth I was too frightened to act, or to say anything lest I put spark to her unhappiness, and ignite it into something worse. I was scared to death of what such a conflagration might consume: Briar, or me even. I couldn't help but wonder what she might be willing to sacrifice if forced to choose between her happiness and mine. Any choice appeared unbearable to me. The very thought of it made me feel queasy.

So I mumbled something to her back and with a heavy heart left her in peace, to wait as long as I had to for her black mood to leave her. Until then I knew with sickening surety that I would do anything to please her, even if it meant submitting myself to a future filled with unsatisfying, horrible, conventionality.

That was how it was since then. Maud had become less openly unhappy, but more correct and distant. At times she seemed on the brink of opening herself to me, only to retreat into herself once more. At times I found her so painfully frustrating, like having a watch which is jammed from being too tightly wound; you ache to bang it free, yet you're too afraid to in case you break the works. In the days that followed I learned to keep our conversation to harmless, and worthless, subjects; to put up with her silences that she took comfort in, but that I found so deafening. In short, I learned to walk on eggshells around her. Funny that; 'cause as I looked for her that morning I thought the crunch of the frozen grass beneath my slippers was just like eggshells. I took a deep breath and, stepping between the tall shrubs, steeled myself to meet her.

But it was not Maud I found.

"Mrs Inker!" I cried.

I startled her so much that she dropped the basket she was carrying, scattering its contents all over the path between us.

"Gawd, I'm sorry," I said breathlessly as went down on all fours, almost bashing my head on hers in the process. I felt the biting cold in my knees through the flimsy muslin of my dress. The frost melted into ice-water on my hands. I noticed Mrs Inker was more sensibly dressed and I looked enviously at her heavy wool dress and padded jacket with a scarf to keep her head warm.

"S'right dear, I'll tend to it," she said but I helped her gather up the leaves and stems anyways. I blew on my fingers to get the feeling back. There was a pungent fragrance on them that made me smile nostalgically. It was Mrs Inker who had taught me the names and uses of some of the garden plants in the days since I had returned from London. I had been caught by Mrs Inker in the kitchen, when I was once again hunting fretfully for Maud, and not wanting the woman to be privy to my troubles, asked her in an offhand way about the herbs that were lying on the table. She didn't mind me being there one bit, and even if it was a bit inappropriate for her to be seen teaching her mistress she didn't let on. But for me it was so wonderful to finally talk to someone, without worrying my guts out lest I let slip one careless word that might bring down a suffocating silence, that I came back for more the next day as well. I didn't really care what we talked about, but I did remember enough of her lessons to know what my hands smelled of that day.

"Rosemary," I said to her.

She smiled at me in a gentle, kindly way from where she knelt opposite me. Unexpectedly, she took my hands in her, and I was surprised to find them warm. It was a comforting gesture, and reminded me so much of how I ached to close the distance that had come between me and Maud, that for a moment I couldn't look Mrs Inker in the eye for fear that she would see it all in my face and so I kept my eyes on our hands instead. Her hands were thickened by years of domestic labour, yet were remarkably soft. They smelled of rosemary, mixed with lavender and a bit of sage. It recalled the pungent odours of nights spent by the warmth of the brazier back in Lant Street, when I hadn't a care in the world.

"I knew her, you know," she said softly.

"What? Knew who?" I asked. Mrs Inker's eyes searched mine. Behind her careworn features and gentle disposition she had a steely gaze that made it hard to meet her eyes. I hadn't noticed it in her before; I guess I thought of her like I did other servants - so placid; but I shouldn't have been surprised that it might be otherwise seeing as how much nerve it must've taken to have stayed with Maud after everyone else had abandoned her.

"Your mother," she said significantly.

"My mother?" I almost choked and looked about fearfully in case anyone else had heard. I dunno what I was afraid of - ghosts maybe. I didn't suppose Maud had told the Inkers about the will, nor that she weren't the real Miss Lilly. In a panic I wondered if Mrs Inker imagined Mrs Sucksby was my mother; but how could she have ever heard about her? Perhaps she was some kind of witch! The touch of her hands was gentle but I had the urge to pull mine away.

She said, "I should've known it heretofore, but seeing you wandering the grounds these past days looking so sad brought back such memories of her."

Had my troubles been so obvious, I wondered, but said, "Who?"

She gave me a small smile. "She used to wander the grounds those times she escaped the house. I used to watch her. She had such a sad face. Your face… I can see the resemblance now. Ain't you the very picture of her?"

With a shock it dawned on me. "You mean Marianne Lilly?

She nodded slowly, gauging my reaction.

"Marianne…," I struggled to arrange my crowded thoughts. My mother, who had not been a thief, but had died in a mad-house instead. "You said escaped… then she really was cracked?"

Mrs Inker broke into a cackled so sudden that it startled me. "No indeed!" she said. "Who told you those lies? Was it Mr Lilly? Truth was she was imprisoned here! An innocent girl locked up in her room, and you would have died here an unborn child if she weren't determined to save you – bless her!"

I fell silent. There were so many questions all trying to be asked at once that I didn't know where to begin. I knew next to nothing about my mother, and the picture of her in my head had been more like mist; but she was slowly taking shape, like a ghost made real.

"Why d'you never tell Maud this?" I asked suddenly.

She looked at me levelly. "Would have lost my place, eh, when Mr Lilly was alive. He filled Miss Maud's head with lies about her, like he did Mrs Stiles and all the servants as well. Besides, me and William were out at the lodge in those days, and never saw Miss Maud, least not never alone.

"And after," she shrugged. "To be honest she never looked like she wanted to know. Who could blame her after being raised so queerly. It was shameful. Preferred to be shut up in the library; I don't think she wanted anything to do with anybody; at least not until you showed up again."

I almost smiled at that, but said seriously, "So how come you know the truth if all the others just fell for them lies?"

"Cause no one knew that we knew her," she replied conspiratorially. "We was outside servants who never had cause to speak to a Lady. But William found her outside one night, half frozen to death the poor thing, and took pity on her and warmed her in the lodge by the gate. She went back to the house on her own accord, and bade us tell no one that we ever met her. That way no one would ever be the wiser."

"What d'you mean, wiser?" I asked.

She smiled. "That we was going to help her make her escape to London!"

"Is it true, then?" said a grating voice. "'Bout what you said of Miss Susan?"

I scrambled to my feet and saw Mr Inker leaning on a spade nearby. His nails were black with dirt and his creased face bore such a scowl that it made my legs tremble. Mrs Inker gave him a great nudge with her elbow.

"Look at her you great lout!" she demanded. "Can't you see for yourself? You always told me what a great beauty she was."

Mr Inker looked thunderstruck. I blushed right to my roots. He was, after all, an old man.

"I never," he protested.

Mrs Inker slapped his arm hard and cackled, "Not her, you old fool! I was thinking of Miss Marianne."

Then he looked at me with that same intense scrutiny that his wife had used earlier and I think I blushed even more.

"She's got the very same eyes, I swear she does; and the shape of her face too," Mrs Inker suggested. My thoughts whirled. I thought to myself; I've got her eyes! That got my heart going a mile a minute, like I was hearing Marianne Lilly's will read to me for the first time again. My mother was no longer just a name on paper, or a picture in a locket, but someone still remembered as a living breathing person; someone like me. I felt Mrs Inker's hands steady me and with an effort I forced my eyes to focus again. Mr Inker's eyes still stared at me beneath his creased brow, but much softer than before.

"And this is the… I mean her…?" he said tremulously.

His wife almost chuckled at the effect her words were having. "Yes William, this here's Miss Marianne's baby, come back to us a Lady."

His reaction might have been a mirror of my own, cause he was rendered speechless and had to use his spade like a cane to steady himself.

"Bit of a shock ain't it," I said, still shaken myself. I turned to Mrs Inker, for I was dying to ask her. "Tell me more, but first; how'd you know it was me and not Maud?"

She gave me a knowing look. "C'mon inside and I'll tell you. Look at you! You're shivering. I think you could use a cup of tea. What were you thinking coming out here with naught but a shawl and some slippers?"

She went to take my arm but I slipped away, remembering all a sudden why I had come outside in the first place. Already the frost had melted away and with it Maud's footprints had vanished.

"I've got to find Maud," I could hardly keep the worry from my voice. "Have you seen her?"

Mr Inker harrumphed and muttered darkly. "Miss Maud. So, she's been a right cuckoo-bird all along."

"No!" I rounded on him vehemently. "You're never to say that, none of you! This is every inch her home as much as mine. In my mind she still has every right to it, more so even for what she gave of herself here. No one is to forget that, ever!"

I wondered how I could explain it to them, or even if I ever should. How could they understand what Maud had to endure as Marianne's daughter? Whatever reasons Mr Lilly had to hate his sister, it was Maud who had borne all the burden of it, while I just collected the spoils after. It didn't seem fair on the face of it. With blurry vision I pushed past them both and hurried into the wooded area behind the house.

How long I wandered I don't know, only that I almost wished then that Mrs Inker hadn't figured out who I was. Bad enough, I thought, that Maud was sunk into despair over the business in London, but to have the servants think the worse of her as well was too much to bear.

"Sue, what are you doing?" her voice came from behind me and I spun around.

Maud wore a quizzical expression. It was only when I turned that I noticed with surprise that I had unknowingly wandered into the old family plot that lay deep in the shade of the turning trees. The headstone that marked my mother's grave was so close that it made me jump and I became so flustered that could not think of anything to say. I shouldn't wonder what I must have looked like to her, shivering among the graves in only a flimsy print frock and sodden slippers. She in contrast looked sensibly warm inside her boots and jacket worn atop of one of her old, heavier dresses. Feeling foolish, I could only cast about looking for something to say.

"What happened to Mr. Lilly?" I asked suddenly, still looking about. I never noticed before, but the ground was undisturbed.

Maud drew her brows together, not altogether understanding the question.

"He was laid in the churchyard," she answered at last. "It was better that way."

Better than what, I wondered, but nodded. On the pretence of moving away from the graves, I got closer to her. I knew I would have to tell her.

"I just saw Mrs Inker," I admitted. "She knows Maud. I dunno how; I never told her."

Maud's face was a blank, so I explained. "She knows about me; about Marianne. Don't be angry with me. I never told anyone. She must've figured it out somehow."

I chewed my lip. Maud looked away in consternation, and when she spoke her voice was dull. "It does not matter, Sue. It is a trifle."

"But I don't want them to think any worse of you," I declared. "Especially as you are their mistress, and I dunno what we'll say now."

She shrugged but her face was dark with bitterness. "Tell them the truth then. Tell them you are their mistress now…and I have only been fooling them my whole life."

"Oh, don't talk like that!" I pleaded. I hated seeing her so, but even though I longed to hold her to me I knew that if she pushed me away it would kill me.

"It is true-"

"It's not like that, listen," I implored her. "The Inkers were there, Maud. They've just told me. Before you were born, before Marianne went to London and met Mrs Sucksby, they were here, and knew my mother and, listen to this, they knew her as a good woman who was terribly wronged by Mr Lilly and his father."

"The Inkers?" she looked puzzled. "I never realized they knew her, but of course they must have been here back then." She stiffened. "But what they told you is no different than what Mrs Sucksby told me before."

"But they're here, Maud," I insisted. "And they can tell us what really happened."

"How can it matter to me anymore?" she sighed. "It is your life now, Sue."

"It's my life now, but you're the one who lived it. You're the one who Mr Lilly hurt all those years because he supposed you were me. Don't you want to know what it was all for? You knew him, Maud. D'you think Mr Lilly was so scrupulous that he was cut to the quick just cause his sister was having a baby?"

Maud stared in thought and then dropped her eyes and spoke quietly. "When I was with Mrs Sucksby, Richard received a letter from my unc- … from your uncle. At the time I had hoped Mr Lilly might seek to have me returned to Briar, even if it was only to punish me."

She glanced at me before continuing and I saw her ears were tinged. "But he did not care at all what happened to me. Nothing at all. So no, Sue, I do not think Marianne's baby alone explains all that occurred."

I nodded. "Not enough to do what he did to her, and to you, all those years. It's like he did it out of spite, or for revenge, or something like that."

Maud stared. I had all her attention. "What are you suggesting?"

I came closer still to her. I felt my heart beating like mad beneath my stays, for my head was full of fanciful ideas, and I was afraid the whole house was listening.

"What d'you know about my father, Maud?" I asked.

"Your father?" she shrugged, but her eyes were wild. "Why, nothing at all! Marianne was never spoken of, so you can imagine there was no mention of him. I always assumed it was just because she was never married to him, but now I am not so sure."

I couldn't hide my disappointment. I had hoped she would remember something that would give substance to my warm imaginings, even if it was just a morsel. Still, I was compelled to share my thoughts.

"Maud, what if it was _who_ the father was that made all the difference?"

She sniggered. "What, like he was a peddler, or one of the servants?"

Her answer deflated me, but I hoped I hid it well. I confess at times I imagined him being a more noble sort of scoundrel, like some famous highwayman, or even a Lord caught cheating on his wife and forced to flee to the Americas, leaving his sweetheart behind to face the wrath of her father and brother; the type of scandal that someone might read about in a penny dreadful.

"No, more like he did something terrible to Mr Lilly, or his father, something so bad that they'd never forgive him, or anyone near to him." I suggested.

"What did the Inkers say?" she asked sceptically.

"They… well, nothing really," I admitted. "I forgot to ask. I came to find you."

She slipped her arm through mine. "Well, let's go ask them now. Heaven's, Sue, you are freezing cold! What were you thinking coming outside dressed this way?"

I almost laughed, cause I'd completely forgotten I was shivering with cold. Finding something to take Maud's mind off her own troubles had warmed me more than a summer's day. I even humoured myself that perhaps there would be a thaw that day that would bring everything back to the way it was between us, but Maud paused at the threshold of the house, and her eyes mirrored the overcast day.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" I replied cautiously.

She had a faraway look. "I learned many things working for your uncle; there are some things that I sorely wish I could unlearn."

I think I knew what she was speaking of, so I said nothing. She then looked up at the facade of the house before looking at me directly.

"Just be warned that there are secrets in your family," she said. "They might have been taken to the grave with your uncle. It might be best if they stay there, because once learned…"

She didn't finish but went inside and left me pondering if those secrets were the reason why Mr Lilly was buried so far from Briar.

The Inkers rose when we entered the kitchen, but I bade them sit and then told them we'd join them for a cup of tea. There was only a scrubbed table there, stained and marked by the years, with no cloth over it. Mr Inker shot a nervous glance at Maud, which was a testament to how formal things had got since we'd got back; Maud always was served in the parlour. Plus, I think he was a tad worried that I might have tattled on him about his cuckoo-bird comment. Serve him right, I thought wickedly. Once tea was served Maud opened the conversation.

"As you know, I am not the late Mr Lilly's niece. Please rest assured that in that respect we did not intend to deceive you. Sue and I ourselves did not know the truth of our parentage until recently. About Susan's mother, Marianne, we have only been told that when she was in London she came to my mother for help in delivering her baby, and also that she preferred it if her baby was to grow up in London, rather than at Briar. So I was substituted for Susan when Mr Lilly and his father came for Marianne, and Marianne told no one of the exchange, but only wrote it down in her will with instructions for it not to be opened until my eighteenth birthday."

Everyone stared at Maud whilst she made that speech; the Inkers, because it explained so much; me, because it concealed everything. It was the truth yet not the truth. So much was left unsaid that I was fairly busting to interject, so much so that I wondered how she could have avoided my eye while she said it. The Inkers digested the news, and I cleared my throat to break the heavy silence and chose my words carefully out of respect for the great omissions in Maud's account of things.

"That's really all we know about my mother," I told the Inkers. "But we know none of the reasons why she did it. If you can remember anything about why my mother had to run away from Briar it would help me to understand how I got here."

Mr Inker looked to his wife and she in turn fingered her cup, as if unsure where to begin. "You've got to understand, Miss's, that we was, sort to speak, not inside. We lived out at the lodge in those days. That was back when Mr Lilly, your uncle, lived here with his father and sister. We didn't see firsthand what went on between them. We can only tell for certain what we saw with our own eyes."

We waited patiently while she stopped to gulp her tea, then she said to me, "Well, I guess the whole thing was on account of Marianne and those relations of yours in Marlow," she ventured.

"Relations?" wondered Maud aloud, echoing my own thoughts.

"Yes Miss. You know Mr Lilly had cousins living in Marlow," she spoke matter-of-factly.

Maud shook her head at me. "No, he never mentioned them to me."

"You never heard?" Mrs Inker sounded incredulous. "Well, Marianne was in the habit of visiting them from time to time. I can attest to that cause William was often called upon to lend the groom a hand with her horse every time she was going out. It might be idle gossip but one of the chambermaids at the time told me that Miss Lilly had developed an affection for a young man there. Rumour had it her father, the elder Mr Lilly, flew into a rage when he found out about the attachment. It seems the man tried to use the situation to his advantage with her father, demanded money from him after she was with child; threatened to ruin the family reputation. It was because of that that she was locked up."

I was right, I thought. There was someone else, and he was probably my father! I leaned towards Mrs Inker, "Who was he! Is he my father? What was his name!"

She looked at her husband whose face was a blank. "I dunno, Miss. I don't recall his name," she said.

"What d'you mean, you don't remember?" I exclaimed loudly. "You remember everything else!"

Mrs Inker quailed. "Sorry Miss, but that was almost twenty years ago. All I remember was when Marianne came to us at the lodge she could only go on about how cruel her father and brother treated her, and how they was going to murder the child she was carrying and begged us to help her escape them. She never said nothing about the father. I never thought to ask her, Miss."

I glared, and she recoiled as another outburst boiled inside me, but then I felt Maud's restraining hand on mine.

"No need to be sorry, Mrs Inker. You have been most helpful," she said so calmly that I bit back my reply and took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself as well.

"It's alright," I told her at last. "I'm sorry, but it's just that it seemed we were that close to knowing everything that happened, and now we don't even know the man's name, or where he lived, or-"

"Oh I knows where the young rogue lived," chimed in Mr Inker all a sudden.

"What d'you say?" I demanded.

We had all turned and looked at him so intently that he grew nervous and fell silent. He ran his hand through his thin grey hair and coughed when he tried to speak.

"Beggin yer pardon, Miss, but I knows where the young man lived," he croaked and swallowed hard. "Miss Marianne told the groom where she was headed, in case the horse threw a shoe or came up lame and he needed to find her. He were a daft fool an' needed to be told ten hundred times."

"Where is it then?" I asked impatiently, afraid he might forget all of it if he didn't tell that instant.

"Well," he scratched his chin in thought. "I ain't never been there, mind you, but I know fair enough where the place is. It's in Marlow, Miss, but I don't rightly know how to tell you where it is. Beggin yer pardon but you don't know the names of places round here, so they won't mean nothing to you. I would have to show you like."

"Then you could find it again?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes, Miss, that I can, easily," he said, relieved to have finally pleased me. "There's been naught changed in Marlow for a hundred years or more."

I slumped against the back of the chair at this revelation, my senses overwhelmed by this discovery. It was one thing to learn about my family history, but the notion that they might still be alive, in Marlow no less, filled me with excitement and dread in equal measure. I became aware too that Maud was looking at me carefully and I knew by her expression that she disapproved of what I was thinking, but was holding back for the moment. Everyone seemed to be waiting for me.

"Thank you, you've been most helpful," Maud told the Inkers, and they took that as their cue to dismiss themselves. Once I heard the door close I tried to make her understand.

"He might have been my father," I implored her.

She said nothing and we continued to regard each other in a childish staring match. Finally I relented and looked away.

"Alright, alright," I moaned. "I know I'm being a bit daft. The rotter probably scarpered as soon as Mr Lilly told him to kiss off, or he might not have been the father at all. Even if he was, probably no one in Marlow will remember him, let alone anyone at that house."

"Or maybe they just met somewhere else and the house was a fiction," Maud suggested. I nodded to concede her that possibility, but then I leaned toward her.

"But it's possible, ain't it?" I beseeched her and my eyes suddenly grew wide. "Christ, he might even still be alive, just imagine!"

Maud put her careful expression back on and regarded me for a while, her features sliding ever deeper into a frown.

I lowered my eyes and muttered sulkily, "Look, forget it. Let's just pretend we never-"

"No, I think you _should_ go there and see if anyone remembers this man," she said suddenly.

"What? Why?" I stammered, confused by her apparent change of heart.

She looked thoughtfully at me. "Do you remember Mrs Inker said that what she was told was just rumours? I for one don't believe what she heard is true."

"You don't?" She'd lost me.

She counted off her fingers. "First, if Marianne was already with child, I do not think the threat of ruining her reputation would carry much weight with her father anymore."

"Of course," I admitted. She should have been a lawyer, I thought.

"Second, let me ask you; why do you think your mother inherited that fortune?" she asked, eying me shrewdly.

I frowned as I wracked my brains. I always hated puzzles. "I dunno. She inherited it when her mother died, maybe."

Maud eyed me patronizingly. "Yes, but doesn't the law of England naturally pass property to the son? Should it not have passed to your uncle?"

I gave her a steely look while I pondered the question, and then it came to me and I said triumphantly, "Someone must've willed it to her, like it was willed to you and me!"

She almost looked surprised and I congratulated myself for wiping that smug look off her face; but she was undaunted and asked me, "Then who would have willed it to her?"

I looked peeved at her once more, for obviously she had the answer already and was just out to prove how clever she was at my expense.

"It's got to be her parents, right?" I replied tentatively.

Maud looked serious now. "Then why would the elder Mr Lilly leave everything to a daughter he so disapproved of? Why would he not leave it all to the son, your uncle?"

I opened my mouth and held it that way, my mind stuck on the contradiction. Maud was too clever by half.

"I dunno," I concluded.

"If your uncle's father wanted to punish Marianne," she reasoned further, "What better way than to disinherit her?"

I thought about it. "What if he intended to, but died before he was able to do it? By your reckoning he must've passed away soon after we were born."

A slow grudging smile forced its way onto her face and I could hardly contain my own. Deep in thought, she unknowingly rose from her chair, like she was lifted up on the tide of ideas that passed between us, and with her finger, traced an invisible pattern on the scarred table.

"But that still leaves almost an entire year from the time she forms an attachment to this cousin of hers, to the time she is discovered hiding in Lant Street," she said. "He still had plenty of time to have the will altered if he so chose."

"_If_ there was a will," I said morosely.

"_If_ there was even a cousin," she added.

In response I dropped my chin onto my hands and exhaled noisily. "So what are you saying, Maud, that Marianne's father wasn't angry with her… loved her even?"

"I'm saying that we may not know why Marianne ran away from Briar. Not yet at least," she stated.

I looked up at her. I detected her colour was up, and there was a gleam in her eye I hadn't seen since we were in London. I believed she actually wanted to find my relatives more than I did! That wasn't all that hard really; the more I knew of them the less appealing was the prospect of finding still living anyone remotely connected with the Lilly family. What was there more to discover, I wondered; a cruel uncle, a father who might have abandoned my mother and a mother who was hated by all her family? Give me Lant Street any day!

But there was Maud to consider. I knew I had to find out what happened to my mother if only for Maud's sake. She was the one who got robbed of her childhood on account of whatever Marianne was accused of, and add to that her shattered dreams of London and it was no wonder she wanted to find out what was behind it all. Besides that, I harboured the secret desire that if we did get to the bottom of it all it might make Maud content to go on as we once did and give up trying to get away from Briar; away from me.

"Then what should we do?" I asked her, and the word 'we' clung to my tongue like a strange taste long after I said it. But Maud didn't notice, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and gave the kitchen door a determined look.

"Let's go ask Mr Inker if he is willing to take us to Marlow today," she said.

As luck would have it, it just so happened that Mr Inker intended to go into Marlow that very morning on account it was the market day. Maud was content to go as she was, but dressing warm enough was the farthest thing from my mind. If we did find these long lost relatives, what would they think of me? How would it look to them to find the noble Lilly name and property bestowed upon a common girl? Dress after dress was chosen and just as quickly discarded until I settled on a dark purple skirt, luxuriously full and made all of silk, with an embroidered bodice to match. It was one of many that I had made up in London, and was trimmed all around with a tracery of white lace. I finished it with a very small black silk hat. A 'fascinator' was what the milliner in London had called it.

In the mirror I caught Maud's reflection, poised critically against the doorframe of our room. Even the imperfect glass could not hide the severity of her expression.

"It'll likely end up a wild goose chase," I justified to myself as well as her reflection. "So, I figure we might as well join Mr Inker at the market. Ever since you told me they had a market in Marlow I've wanted to see it. D'you think this'll do?"

I turned so fast that my skirt blossomed out in a wild swirl of silk. It would do nicely if we were destined for the Grand Ball but hardly proper for a country market. If Maud thought I was showing off she didn't let on, but her impassive silence made the colour rise up my neck nonetheless. As a concession I decided to forego the dainty shoes I had picked out earlier and instead grudgingly chose some boots from the clothes press nearby.

"And I've got an extra petticoat under to keep me warm," I added as if that made all the difference.

In the cart under the dull sky the roads were as bumpy as ever and made conversation with Maud nearly impossible. Just as well, cause even if it wasn't I was so anxious thinking about who we might meet that I couldn't think of anything to say to her. I wondered what kind of people were they? How grand did they live? I grew so apprehensive that I even wished our old knackeryard nag weren't taking us there quite so fast. I let my hand stray near Maud's but she wouldn't hold it on the pretence of steadying herself against the bucking of the cart. I dunno, perhaps she just didn't notice it was there.

Signs of the forthcoming winter were everywhere I looked. The road was littered with leaves mottled with age; the fields that had been bright with the stalks of hay before we left for London were now dark and barren after being picked clean by the gleaners. Even the roses in the hedgerows were decorated with bright hips like it were already Christmas. I had never been in the country during winter. In London there was just the weather. One day you simply noticed it had turned freezing and that was winter, but at Briar there were so many premonitions of its coming that it was no wonder they still believed in witchcraft.

The road gave way to a lane, and the lane to what was little more than a track, hemmed in by tall hedgerows that reached out and slapped at our cart making me and Maud struggle to claim the small patch of safety in the center. The trees overhead deepened the gloom and just when I thought we couldn't possibly be going the right way we emerged into a clearing that held a few rude cottages. The air was so still that the smoke hung in it like a veil.

"Is this it?" I whispered to Maud.

"I'm not sure," she shrugged and we both looked at Mr Inker. He muttered to the horse and brought us to a stop before he turned to us and nodded toward the nearest dwelling.

"That'll be it, Miss," he said inclining his head towards it.

It was a small dilapidated kind of place, set on a patch of land that alternated between overgrown wilderness and bare trodden earth. The low roof was of thatch and was swaybacked even worse than our horse. I might have thought the place was abandoned if not for the worn ground and some smoke from the chimney. But what kind of people lived there, I wondered?

"This can't be it, can it?" I asked Mr Inker. "You must be mistaken!"

He removed his cap and scratched his head. "This is the place as far as I reckon, else she was tellin' lies."

Maud had got off the back of the cart and had already started for the cottage. I looked at the dark, grimy window and hesitated.

"What are you doing?" I called after her. "This can't be the right place. Marianne would never come to a place like this."

Maud stopped and turned a set of baleful eyes to me. "How can you be so sure? Why do you find it so hard to believe that a girl from Briar could fall in love with someone as poor as all this?"

Chastened, I scrambled off the cart and followed the dirt path to where Maud waited for me just inside of the crooked fence where a gate had once been. The door to the cottage had been blackened in one place from years of being handled, but the rest of it was as weathered as driftwood. Despite what Maud said she was suddenly hesitant, so I had to step forward to knock on the door myself. The weathered wood was so coarse and rough that after I rapped on it I had to suck on my knuckles. Both Maud and I strained our ears to hear any sign of a response. When we heard a rustling from within we backed away from the door with our breath held fast.

Then the latch rattled and the door opened a crack to reveal a face that was just visible as a thin band of light against the darkness within. A single red-rimmed eye roved silently over me and Maud and we stared back at it, too alarmed to say anything.

"Hullo," I spoke at last, and attempted a brave smile. "Could I have a word with you?"

In response the probing eye narrowed and I edged closer to Maud. Finally it spoke, but the door remained almost closed..

"Who are you?"

It was a woman's voice, low and hoarse. We had been looking for a man and for some reason I had been expecting a man to come to the door, so the sound of her voice unnerved me.

"My name is Sue," I stammered. "… Susan Trinder."

I could feel Maud's eyes on me and knew what she was thinking; that finally I know what it is to bear the Lilly name. Well, I was just nervous wasn't I?

"Did Mr Chislepick send you?" The woman spat. "Cause I ain't got the money, see?"

The crack had widened, and I could see hair the colour of used straw, and a face that was all ruddy and rough. I decided to continue with my small deception.

"We don't want your money. Me and my friend here are looking for… for a family who used to live in these parts. They went by the name of Lilly," I said nervously and could feel Maud's eyes on me once more. "Well … we met a man in Marlow who was a servant with the family long ago. He said that they had relations living here who might know the whereabouts of the family."

The woman's eye finally dropped and the door opened still more to reveal a thin woman of middle years who wore an old calico frock that left her arms bare. It hung from her bony frame like lead. The skin on the hand that held the door looked sore and cracked and she caught my glance.

"I do a bit of charring, y'know, to make ends meet," she explained apologetically, and opened the door to us at last. "I thoughts you was here for the rent. Just like Mr Chislepick to try an' frighten me with a pair of swells."

She gave a rasping sort of laugh and backed into the room behind her with us in tow.

"I assure you we have not been sent by anyone," Maud told the woman as we entered the parlour. The only light came from the open door and thankfully it had been left ajar else we would have been in darkness. The woman introduced herself as Mrs Skelton. There was no sign of a Mr Skelton but it was hard to tell the place was in such disarray. I saw Maud's nose twitch from the smell of the place. Everywhere in that low-ceilinged room there were piles of what looked like dirty rags and Mrs Skelton began to move the stinking heaps about to reveal some old chairs hidden beneath.

"Darla, come 'ere," Mrs Skelton called out and my eye was drawn to movement nearby. The cottage was not much more than a single room divided by a heavy canvas and through a divide in it came a small girl who evidently had been watching us the whole time. She crossed to the woman, all the while never taking her eyes off of me and Maud. She wore a plain shift and an old scarf kept her hair covered. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and I could feel the hot fetid air that came from the other room where the washing was being done.

"Darla, put some tea on, will you," she instructed the child and then winked at us knowingly. "Always got some water going in this business."

Maud met my glance and I could tell that the thought of drinking the washing water held the same appeal for her as it did for me. We could already hear the sound of cups being brought down.

"We have a driver waiting for us," Maud said hastily. "We cannot stay."

"Won't take but a second," Mrs Skelton persisted. "Look here she comes now."

Sure enough, that little scrap Darla had made the tea up faster than I could palm a coin and had brought it out on a dirty tray that swayed precariously as she manoeuvred between the mountains of laundry. Maud's eyes grew wide with alarm.

"Really, we don't want to put you out," I pleaded whilst I eyed the chipped and stained cups. "If you could just remember if you know of-"

"Later, later. Take a chair first," Mrs Skelton remonstrated with a wave of her hand and sat herself demurely on one of the filthy chairs. "We'll have some tea; then we'll talk."

Now that she had real Ladies in the house it seemed she didn't want to let us go. She probably learned her manners from an old Women's Journal, I thought nastily, but then again she likely couldn't read. No doubt she couldn't wait to tell the neighbours in the next hovel about her distinguished guests. To avoid soiling my dress I lowered myself reluctantly onto the very edge of a chair so that I was more squatting than sitting and took a proffered cup. I saw Maud frown at the mixture in her cup while Mrs Skelton waited until we had all been served. With exaggerated ceremony she raised her cup to her thin lips and regarded us. I gave her a weak smile and did the same, but did no more than touch the rim to my mouth. Maud and I waited patiently for her to drink.

"Now then," she said at last. "I ain't heard nothing of these folk you're after."

The sound of Maud's cup on the saucer was like a shot.

"Nothing?" gasped Maud. "But we were told on good authority that-"

"You were told wrong, then," she said bluntly with a bit of a gleam in her rheumy eyes. "I never heard of no Lillys, nor am I any relation to them. We come from… nobody particular."

Dammit, I could've strangled the hag then and there, but bit back my anger and merely rose.

"Then we're sorry for the bother. C'mon Maud, we've got to go," I said tersely. "Praps Marianne was never here after all."

Moments later we were outside on the dirt path, my dress making a racket as I strode as fast as I could away from the cottage.

I ground my teeth, "What a bleedin waste of time!"

"The smell!" grimaced Maud. "And the tea tasted awful."

I suddenly stopped and looked at her, appalled. "You didn't actually drink it did you?"

She looked sheepishly at me for a moment, but I saw laughter welling up inside her. I would have laughed too, the first time in ages, but for the sound of the cottage door latch and of running feet. We turned to see little Darla run up to us to grasp Maud's hand.

"Don't leave," she pleaded.

The poor thing, I thought. I'd hate to live in that cottage too. I tried to disengage her hand from Maud's but she clung like a limpet.

"Come back," she said.

"Sorry luv," I said gently. "Maud and I have to be on our way."

"You have to come and see," the girl insisted.

I was getting fed up. "Look, you've gotta go now."

"Wait," Maud said, and then bent down to the child. "What do we have to see?"

"Christ," I sighed. I wasn't about to back in there, but Maud shushed me.

"What are we supposed to see, Darla?"

Under Maud's gaze the girl grew furtive. "Me ma doesn't know."

"Know what?" Maud rubbed the girls hand gently. "What is it?"

Darla looked at each of us before she whispered, "Marianne."

"What?" I exclaimed. "Where'd you hear that name?"

The girl pulled at Maud's hand. "Come and see."

She dragged Maud to the door where we met Mrs Skelton coming out.

"Darla!" the woman cried. "What're you doin' there. Leave the Ladies be!"

"It is quite alright," Maud assured her. "She wants to show us something."

Mrs Skelton groaned. "Pay no attention to the little pest. Her head's plain full up with fancies."

We ignored Mrs Skelton and let Darla guide us through the parlour and past the canvas divider to where the great washing kettles produced the awful miasma in the kitchen, and then further still to a dark corner where stairs led to the attic above.

"Darla!" called Mrs Skelton from behind us.

"C'mon," urged the child before she scampered up the stairs.

The steep steps groaned as we ascended to where I assumed the girl slept. I heard Mrs Skelton huffing and puffing in our wake. Once there, we found there were two rooms that had plain cloth curtains for doors. Darla vanished through one of them. We couldn't see inside because the only light was from the kitchen below, but we could hear Darla's muffled voice.

"It's here. Let me show you." She cried plaintively.

Maud turned to Mrs Skelton, "Can you fetch a candle, please?"

Mrs Skelton scoffed. "Pay her no heed, Miss. She's just-"

"Get a candle, will you!" I commanded her impatiently.

She returned in a moment and grudgingly handed over a smoky tallow candle. Maud held it aloft as we stepped into the room. We both ducked involuntarily as the candlelight struck the low ceiling that followed the slope of the roof above and made half the room too low to be of any use. The thatch showed between the boards and I shuddered at the thought of all those mice in it. There was nothing else but a straw-filled tick for the girl to sleep on.

"It's here," said Darla from the shadows beside us. The candle flickered violently in Maud's hand as she moved towards the girl's voice. We found her in a dark corner furthest from the doorway, pointing at the wall at a point where a thick timber was set into the plaster. Behind me I gave Mrs Skelton a questioning look but she merely shrugged.

"Sue, come and see this," I heard Maud call. Her voice trembled.

She held the candle up to the place that Darla was pointing at. It was just a big wooden post, scarred and split with age.

Maud held the light closer. "There, do you see it?"

The post was an ancient thing and the candlelight made the rough surface dance with shadows, but then I saw that the wood had been carefully cut away in one spot, leaving raised letters in the center. Even I could make out what the letters spelled.

"Marianne," I breathed. "Then she _was_ here."

"At least someone who knew her was," Maud added. I looked at here questioningly.

"You would not carve your own name would you?" she explained.

I nodded. Of course, I thought, you'd scratch the name of your sweetheart. Then it struck me. "Oh Christ Maud, my father might have put this here!"

I looked again. It must have taken hours, if not days, to make such fine letters. I imagined that he would have stood on the very spot I was on; even the room might've been his own once! I put my hand out to touch the wood. In truth my head was swimming so much that I had to steady myself lest I swooned. Maud must have imagined it was an intimate gesture, cause she stepped back to leave me alone with my thoughts.

"Darla," she said. "Was this always here?"

I didn't hear Darla answer, but Mrs Skelton said, "It must've been there before I got here, and that was years and years ago."

"Is there anything else like this?" Maud asked.

"Dunno. Never seen nothing like it. I never knew it was there, honest," said Mrs Skelton. "Is that the name of one of them relations you was looking for? I reckon someone didn't like her much."

I rounded on her. "How d'you figure that?"

"Ooh, just look at it," she pointed. "It's all scratched out."

I snatched the candle from Maud and held it closer. Maud and I both peered once more at the name carved into the post. The woman was right. The wood was cracked with age, but where the name had been carved someone had split the wood on purpose, or rather it had been slashed repeatedly with a knife, over and over, in different directions.

"Someone did that on purpose, I wonder what for," said Maud.

I ran my fingers over my mother's name and over the long cuts that crossed it. The slashes were old enough that the exposed wood inside them was as dark with age as the letters they defaced. There was no telling whether days, or months, had passed between the two deeds; either way it was a long time ago. I wondered how anyone could have so lovingly carved her name into that post and then so viciously attacked it so soon after? My fingers traced the hard edges of the cuts that still felt as sharp as the blade that must've made them.

"It takes strength to make a cut this deep," I muttered.

Or passion, I thought grimly as I stared at them. I felt again the knife in my hand as I burst into the Lant Street shop. I remembered the pounding of the blood in my head when I saw Maud there, wearing my clothes, my bangles.

"Sue?" Maud spoke quietly.

I tore myself away, and found Maud's questioning face in the candlelight. "What happened to make him turn against her like that?" I asked her.

Maud regarded me dubiously. "Him? Sue, we don't know who made this, or who crossed it out. Perhaps there was no connection between them."

I was sure she was wrong, though I couldn't say why. I just knew that the cuts weren't made by some boy in a fit of boredom, but were driven there by blind fury, just as I knew in my bones that if anyone's love could be turned to such hate, it would be my fathers. After all, didn't we share the same blood? But I'm sure if I said so aloud Maud would have laughed in my face.

I said, "Let's get out of here."

We shuffled out of the stuffy, cramped room and back down to the parlour. I needed some air, but Maud stopped to speak with Mrs Skelton.

"When you came here, did the previous tenants leave anything else behind that you know of. Were there any papers or anything of that sort?"

Mrs Skelton grunted, "No papers. All of it was here, like you see it."

I looked around the room at the crude chairs and the chipped cups and the painted canvas that served as a carpet beneath the mounds of dirty washing. I thought it did much to explain why Marianne's father would have opposed the match, but made no sense of what we had just seen upstairs; I only wished there was someone about who still remembered who had put Marianne's name there.

As if thinking the same thing, Maud suddenly blinked and I heard her sharp intake of breath.

"Mrs Skelton," she said hurriedly. "That man you pay the rent to, has he always been the landlord here?"

I looked at Maud significantly. "Do you think?"

But Mrs Skelton's face darkened with suspicion. "What d'you want with Mr Chislepick?"

"P'raps he'd know who used to live here," I said to her. "D'you know where we could find him?"

The question seemed harmless enough, but it worked a remarkable change on the woman. She began to shake and waggled a finger at us and her voice was shrill. "Look here, I ain't done nothing wrong! What are you trying to do to me? You'll kill me if you give me up to Chislepick! Fairly kill me it would."

Maud tried to calm her. "Please Mrs Skelton, we have no intention of mentioning your name, or even that we were here. We just would like to ask-"

"You don't know this Chislepick!" she quailed louder than ever. "You dunno what he's capable of!"

She had got herself into a right state, and no explanation would convince her that we meant her no harm. In the end we had no choice but to leave lest her hysteria turn into outright violence. Even then she shouted at us from her door.

"No one goes to Chislepick if he knows what's good for 'im!" she cried before banging it shut behind us. Only once we were safely on the road did we stop for breath.

"Christ, what was that all about?" I said.

Maud stared at the cottage. "She is obviously terrified of this man Chislepick."

"Let's get away from here," I shuddered. "She might come after us with a pitch fork. Anyway, we don't need her to find this man. If he's only half the villain she makes him out to be, he should be easy to find in a place like Marlow. I'll bet half the people there know him."

We mounted the cart and I watched the dirty little hamlet fall away behind us. Maud was watching me distantly and when I met her eye she had to raise her voice to speak to me above the noise from the road.

"I just wonder if it is entirely prudent to even try to find him, given his reputation," she said. I scoffed at her caution.

"What, you don't believe all that gibberish that woman spouted, do you?" I said. "This morning you were all for doing this. Why stop now?"

Having to almost shout I guess my words sounded challenging, cause the chords of her neck suddenly stiffened and a faint flush spread to her face.

"That was when I thought we might find someone here who knew something. We did not find anything," she replied.

I wondered how she could say that? What we found was hardly nothing, but I wasn't about to argue about it.

I said, "Well, it's not like you have anything else to do, right Maud?"

I meant it as a kind of joke, but she took it the wrong way. Before I could say another word I saw the shutters descend over her eyes and she pursed her lips and turned away. Fine, I thought bitterly, let her have her sulk; but it spoiled the rest of the journey into Marlow.

It didn't take long to reach the village proper and we came out of the lane near the field where the market was being held. There were all sorts of carts, wagons and small carriages drawn up in that part of the field that was bordered by the road we followed. The farmers from around Little Marlow milled about, tending to their horses, or unloading their wares into handcarts. I could smell the animals for sale. Over the noise of the cart and the shouts of the villagers I caught the strains of a flute and drum and I craned my neck to try to catch a glimpse of what else the market held in store for us. Soon I could see a few stalls in the field. Some were just carts without the horse, but others had been built to look like proper little shops, and were topped by oilcloth canopies dyed in bright colours. It all looked very gay and I found myself eager to get off the cart.

I looked sideways to where Maud sat rigidly, and chastised myself for having forgotten about her, if only ever so briefly. I watched her eyes pass impassively over the field, and I couldn't tell whether she was just not interested by what she saw or whether she was pointedly avoiding my eyes. As much as I tried to steel myself, I couldn't help but feel my heart lurch with remorse.

I reached for her. "Maud… please."

There was a stirring in her eyes as if she was undecided, but then she lowered her face and sat back against the side of the cart, her eyes not quite on me but listening.

I said, "I've decided I'm not going to worry 'bout my mother anymore today. And you're right about that Chislepick man, he probably can't remember anything anyways, seeing as he only collects the rent. Let's just enjoy the market today, eh?"

Her gaze fell to my outstretched hand and she lifted her own and touched it and gave me a polite nod of her head. I guess it wasn't so much a surrender on her part than a truce of sorts, but it was enough for me.

Once Mr Inker had tended to the horse, we followed him into the market. Being strangers in a place where there weren't many, we drew our fair share of looks. I soon regretted having worn the London dress I had on. The Marlow girls had to settle for a just a ribbon or a handkerchief or just a bright bauble pinned on their hat to add a splash of colour to their dull country fashions. In contrast my own dress made such a display that it seemed almost cruel to be wearing it among them. Everyone stopped and stared. I didn't mind so much on my part; I could bear their envy, and even scorn; but it was Maud I was anxious for. I worried that she might think that behind every set of eyes was the gossip about her, not just the old talk of her sham marriage, but that stuff out of London. I watched her walk doggedly behind Mr Inker, patently ignoring the stares. It was maddening, I thought; being stared at in Marlow for being a total stranger, whilst in London it happened for just the opposite reason. Was there no getting away from it, I wondered? I pursed my lips and looked defiantly at the faces turned towards us and was rewarded when one after another they averted their eyes. They're all like bloody servants, I thought savagely. Of course I knew it was partly on account of my fancy clobber. The yokels imagined I was a Lady. If they only knew Maud like I did they would show her the greater respect, I thought sourly. The image of those brief weeks, when I was her maid and we were so happy together that we forgot all about Gentleman, stole into my mind. I sighed; it seemed like years ago. One day it'll be like that again, but until then I knew Maud would be brave, but that wasn't good enough for me. I wanted her to be happy.

Maud looked up. Somewhere beyond the nearest row of stalls the sound of flute and drum had resumed. Maud craned her neck to see and I took the opportunity to sidle close to her.

"At least they got more than flipping vegetables here," I whispered to her and drew a smile.

"Can we see?"

"Course," I said and lowered my voice. "But I want to keep an eye on Mr Inker for a bit first.

Maud stopped and looked perplexed. "What for? Has he not been here countless times before without us?"

I pouted at the man's back. "That's the problem, Maud. What's he ever brought back? The man's so frugal if you gave him a sovereign, he'd give it all back to you save a ha'penney."

"I thought economy was a virtue, especially in servants," she said, arching her brows dryly.

"Yes, but not when our cupboards are bare. For both our sakes we must force him to be lavish today."

Maud looked amused but said nothing. I made a gesture that encompassed the stalls around us.

"C'mon Maud. What'll you have?" I exhorted her loudly, determined that she should be diverted.

"Have?" she looked around listlessly in a way that made me shake my head.

"I know what you need. Hang on a second," I told her and then cupped my hands to my mouth.

"Mr Inker, come 'ere!" I called out over the voices around us and couldn't help but notice how even over the sounds of the noisy market my accent drew stares from everyone nearby. Maud made a caustic sound in her throat and I felt a strange delight knowing she took offense on my behalf.

"Miss?" said Mr Inker when he had rejoined us.

"Maud's got a hankering for some wine," I told him and held up my hand to cut off her inevitable protest.

"Wine, oh aye," he mumbled and scratched his head vaguely. "If you'll be needing a bit of 'freshment there'll be a feller hereabouts that'll serve some if I recall, but I can't speak for the quality. Either that or you might try-"

"Not a glass Mr Inker, I meant a whole bottle's worth; no, make that a crate of bottles even," I said decisively.

"A crate's worth?" he said, staring at Maud with a dumbstruck look, before comprehension dawned slowly on his creased face. "Ah, I see, Miss. I guess you'll be wanting it fer the cellars?"

I sensed that he was worried that Maud might want to drink it all now, so I said, "And can you find us some beer? A barrel should do for a while I should think, don't you Maud?"

Maud, who had been eyeing me curiously, shrugged helplessly. "Why not?"

"And ice, Mr Inker!" I suddenly remembered. "We must have more ice!"

That was the last straw, for he wrung his hands together like they were rags as he worked up his courage.

"Miss," he lowered his voice. "You don't know what you're asking. Coal and food are one thing, but these other things cost a pretty penny, and at this time of the year ice is-"

"Is this enough?" I pressed a handful of coins into his hands and heard him gasp.

"Well I never," he breathed as he stared at the coins in wonder. Then he coughed apologetically. "Sorry, Miss, but in all my years I ain't never…."

I gave him a reassuring smile. "It's alright, Mr Inker, things will be different now. Here's enough to get the coal-man and butcher off your back, and also to get anything we fancy as well. After all, we've got to show 'em that we at Briar ain't beggars no more, ain't that right?"

He gave a start when I winked at him, and I knew Maud thought it a horrible impropriety, but just as quick his face cracked into a grin. "Yes Miss, of course!"

We followed him as he plunged into the marketplace. I conferred with Maud over what Mr Inker should buy, and how much we would need, but despite all her years at Briar she had learned little about the running of a household.

She said, "I do not know how much meat, or coal, or washing soap the house requires. No one ever told me before."

"No one?" I said incredulously. "But didn't that nasty Mrs Stiles have to tell somebody what all the money was spent on?"

Maud looked abashed, "She never told me. I imagine she was given an allowance by Mr Lilly and used it at her discretion."

"No wonder you hadn't money back then," I muttered.

"What was that, Sue?" she asked sharply.

I shook my head, "Nothing." I thought it was better not to tease her, but looking at her flashing eyes and flared nostrils I couldn't help thinking that she was even more beautiful when her dander was up a bit. Just up a little bit, though, I thought prudently.

"Then I guess you will be keeping the accounts from now on, Sue," she declared.

"Well, you won't see me being taken in by the hired help," I muttered grumpily, stung by her barb.

If our conversation was strained at least the marketplace did its best to divert us. It weren't all vegetables and meat and such; we loaded up on those things we had become accustomed to in London, but had been in short supply back home; scented soap, balm for your hands and lotion for your skin. There were all kinds of things that the industrious folk of Marlow had made which they peddled alongside the regular foodstuff.. Cloth, embroidered in a way no machine could match. Yards of hand-made lace edgings that I yearned for except that I couldn't think what I'd use it for. All sorts of hats were being sold there, some of them quite handsome, even compared to what I saw in London. I was fascinated by a clockwork device that peeled fruit in the blink of an eye just by turning a handle.

The merchants seemed eager to accommodate me and Maud. My guess was that the news that Briar wasn't shut up after all had spread as quick as it took us to ask a grocer's son to hire us a cart to carry all our purchases home. He came back with a friend who begged to make himself useful by loading our cart for us, and he in turn returned with another friend who knew the ice-man, or the wine merchant, followed by young boys and girls entreating us to visit the stall of their mother, uncle or what-not. They were drawn to us like bees to honey, and pretty soon a whole ragtag gang of them followed us, all wanting to help and of course all wanting to be paid for their services.

All I wanted was for Maud and me to stroll the market at our leisure, so I was tempted to tell them all to sod off, but one look at Mr Inker struggling with a great sack of turnips or something told me he was too old to do all the work himself. I asked the gang following us who was the strongest, but that just started an argument among them; then I compounded my error by offering money up front as an inducement to get them to load our cart but that only turned them into a mob. I had to shout myself hoarse just to be heard. To carry one sack I had ten or more volunteers all pressing me to pick them above all the others, each one fought all the others to get in the most advantageous position nearest me, so that soon it was impossible to tell what they wanted most, to help me or to fight. I could only watch helplessly and pull my skirt clear of them. Even worse, I couldn't make up my mind who to pick cause if I chose only one amongst them I knew I could never face the bellyaching from all the rest of them. I was surrounded, and pretty soon I found myself backed against the side of a great wagon with no way to escape them.

It was Maud who rescued me. She didn't ask them, or offer them anything. She waded into that bloody melee fearlessly and simply picked two or three of the biggest ones and told them what was expected of them, the rest she dismissed without batting an eye. She wasn't dressed have so grand as me, but I bet she could have commanded their respect even if she wore nothing but old rags.

"Thank you, Maud," I said humbly after they were gone.

Her eyes glittered coyly. "I hate to think you are being pushed around."

In reply I could only twist my mouth in a sour grin.

Suddenly Maud gestured toward the stalls. "Oh, is it over so soon?"

I looked around. It did indeed seem the market was winding down. Beside us a man in patched and faded dungarees overheard Maud and straightened up from the crates he was loading from his vegetable stall.

"Aye, Miss," he touched his frayed straw hat in deference. "We generally pack-up about now."

The sound of the flute and drum drifted over us once again from somewhere just out of sight and Maud, hearing it, pouted at me. "I feel we have barely seen half of it."

"Begging yer pardon, Miss," the costermonger offered. "But the young 'uns usually stay the afternoon fer music and dancing… if you're partial to that."

He nodded down the space between the stalls. We could clearly see that there was a string of people filtering through the market in the direction we heard the music come from. We even caught sight of one of the boys who had helped us, leading a lithe girl in a faded yellow print dress who jumped deer-like over the muddy ground.

Maud looked wistful, "Must we go?"

"Mr Inker will be waiting for us by the dog-cart," I chewed my lip a bit before I decided. "Christ, he can wait for us. What-the-hell, eh Maud?"

"It would be best if I tell him that we will be late," Maud suggested sensibly.

"I'll go with you," I said.

"No, wait here, Sue. The horses have trodden the ground. Your dress will get muddy," she said.

"Alright," I replied gratefully and she touched my hand and I watched her walk away between the stalls. I waited, feeling idle and getting in the way as the market was being taken apart. Don't these country folk ever rest, I wondered? I found safety from the jostling between some carts. A short sturdy woman dressed in a tough working smock, was packing things into a crate beside me. She might have been the costermonger's wife, or sister. When she caught me looking she politely bobbed her head, waggling a thick braid that stuck out from beneath the scarf that covered her head.

"D'you do alright today?" I asked conversationally.

The woman stared at me, dumbstruck. Maybe she was surprised by my accent, or perhaps my fancy gown frightened her; either way there was an awkward silence. I tried again. "Have a good day, did you?"

She scratched at her scalp through her scarf and spoke slowly. "I'd say tweren't no better or worse than the other days."

Her accent was thick, and I wondered if the way she measured her words was the county habit or did she think I was as simple as all that? Her expression told me that was the end of the conversation and she returned to her work without another word.

"Say, d'you know someone by the name of Chislepick?" I asked suddenly.

I cocked my head to watch her face as she bent over her work. As soon as I had uttered the name she winced, but she recovered in a flash.

"Who? I ain't never heard of him," she deadpanned.

I suppressed a smile. I never told her I was looking for a man. "You sure 'bout that, 'cause I was just talking to this woman who said that she-"

"I said I ain't never heard of 'im," she said more firmly. I could see her tense, so I tried set her at her ease.

"Oh, I don't know him," I interjected. "I just heard his name from-"

"I got business to attend to," she blurted out and made off quick between the tall stall and a wagon. I stared long after she was gone. I wondered what the man Chislepick had done to make everyone so afraid of him? Perhaps it was nothing more than she owed him money too, just like that Skelton woman. Or maybe she owed someone else money and Mr Chislepick was just some hired bully. I'd seen them plenty times in London and they are nothing to laugh about when once they was after you. Bullies are the same all over.

I looked for Maud down the pathway but couldn't make her out in the confusion. I suddenly changed my mind about waiting and decided to meet Maud before she got back. I reasoned I didn't want her to lose her way on the way back, but really I was worried that the woman might fetch someone to deal with me. How or why I didn't know. Of course it was just my warm imagination playing tricks on me but even still I slipped furtively between the nearest stalls and threaded my way between barrels and baskets until I came out in another lane of the market.

It looked much the same as the part I had come from except that I could see and especially smell the pens where they sold sheep and pigs. Around me everyone was so busy that they barely took notice of me. To test my theory I asked one or two people nearest me whether they knew Mr Chislepick. I tried to be as disarming as I could but each time I asked I was met with stony silence or even outright hostility. Either they were all bloody debtors or there was some other reason they all feared this man who might be the only person alive who knows what happened to my father. I melted into a stream of farmers making their way back to where the horses and carts were waiting but kept one eye out for Maud and the other for any sign of pursuit. I figured I'd better stop inquiring lest I was told to leave the market altogether. How'd I ever explain that to Maud, I wondered?

I noticed a young man in soiled dungarees and large hobnailed shoes had fallen into step with me. It was another of the ones who helped us; probably begging for more money, I thought warily. I tried to ignore him but it was clear he was intent on catching my eye.

"What is it?" I finally said.

He smiled and bobbed his head. "Sorry to bother you, Miss, but can you thank your maid for me?"

"My what?" I asked.

"Ain't she your maid?" he screwed up his face. "Oh, she ain't your sister or something is she?"

"Sister? D'you mean Maud?" I smiled, amused despite his coarse manners. If only Maud could hear this, I thought.

"Yeah, that one you was with earlier, … the pretty one," he added, and then swept off his cap sheepishly at the look on my face. "Sorry, Miss, it's just that-"

"You wanted to thank her?" I said tersely.

"For letting me help you," he nodded enthusiastically. "You're ever so generous; ain't there anything else I can do for you?"

I cocked an eye at him. From his pocket I had heard the dull ring of the coins Maud had already bestowed on him. Probably overpaid him horribly, I thought. I shook my head.

"Sorry, we've done for the day," I said.

"Oh," he looked crestfallen and I was about to cut back to the side of the market where I figured Maud would be looking for me when I had an idea.

"Hey," I said to the boy and I watched his face brighten when I beckoned him to one side.

"Yes Miss?"

"There is something you can do for me; you can tell me why everyone looks at me like I just spat on them whenever I say the name Chislepick."

He flinched something awful. "Shh Miss!"

"What?"

He first made sure no one was listening. "You're not from around here, but you must believe me when I say its bad luck to use that name. If you do, everyone will hate you."

"Hate me? Why; what's this fellow done that's so unforgivable?"

He lowered his voice. "Dunno if he's done anything. It's just bad luck, that's all."

"Hogwash," I scoffed. "Surly you don't believe all that superstitious rubbish. Anyway, if he's done anything really bad in a little place like this the police would have caught him by now."

"What, the Constable?" he said sarcastically. Then something caught his eye that brought a cruel curl to his lip. I followed his gaze over my shoulder and his eyes were fixed on a woman who was passing nearby. I couldn't see her face for she kept it hidden inside a dark hooded mantle, but she did stand out from the crowd. She was very tall, or at least she gave the impression of being tall in the way she walked, slowly with long languid strides that carried her further with each step than anyone around her.

"Try asking her. She'll give you more answers than you've got questions for." the boy called, lifting his chin so that she might hear him and his voice had a mocking edge to it. He smiled and glanced sidelong as his remark provoked a smattering of laughter in those nearest us. I watched the woman's step falter as she judged whether or not to continue. The light caught her mouth and chin and I saw the lines around her mouth tightened in a way that made me sure it was not the first time she had been taunted by the village boys. I wondered why: was she disfigured? Was she mad? Whatever the reason, I was in no mood to laugh with the others at her expense.

A rough and toughened hand emerged from inside the mantle and pointed at the boy. "A pox on you, Billy Warkin!"

"Wotchit, or she'll put a spell on you," the boy warned, waving his hands comically as he drew more laughter from the rest. I frowned at them. I bet she never did anything to deserve such treatment.

"That's enough," I told the boy. "What's she ever done to you?"

He gestured dramatically. "Turned me into a toad once!"

There was more laughter, so I tried another tactic; I smiled at the shining faces around us and said gaily, "Once? You still are a toad. Didn't you know?"

At least they weren't laughing at her no more. While they were at it I gave the boy a good-natured shove. "Now, get on with you."

He bowed theatrically and made off in high spirits. The onlookers also went about their business.

I looked for the woman. "Wait!"

She had been making off too, but stopped and came back to me. I was going to tell her I was sorry for what was said but just then she pulled back her hood to reveal a quite ordinary face, not too old, but ruddy from working outside. She weren't disfigured or anything, but what made my words die on my lips was her hair. Her hood had been hiding a cascade of bright red hair that wasn't pinned, or done up in a chignon like normal women, but just left to hang wild without even a cap to cover hide it. Perhaps she _was_ mad.

"Don' worry, I ain't gonna put a spell on you, Miss," she said.

I must have been staring. I blushed.

"I didn't…," I stammered. "I mean of course not. I don't believe in that."

She made a face, "That's a shame, cause I might have told your fortune."

I regarded her dubiously. "My fortune? You a Gypsy, or something?"

"Gypsy?" She smiled crookedly. "Of a sort, I guess. I admit I bin telling folk their fortunes this morning. Ah, don't give me that eye, Miss, it's only a harmless lark done over tea leaves and herbs; but I daresay they take it serious enough; not that I say anything frightening; I tell em easy things like they'll find that lost coin or bump into an old love. I tell you this 'cause I can see your not one of us."

I bloody well hope not, I thought bleakly. "Is that why the boy was saying you was a witch?"

She gave a barking sort of laugh that took me aback. "Nah, I've been called that since long before I ever read the swill in the bottom of a cup, though you won't find a harsh word about me from any of the women about here, or those boys if they thought of anything but what's in their trousers. I daresay there would be fewer of them to trouble me if it weren't for my hands bringing them into this world, or a poultice when they was taken with the fever."

"Are you a midwife, then?" I said.

She looked mildly impressed. "Oh, d'you know something of the trade?"

"The woman who raised me was… something similar," I replied, but thought what polar opposites she and Mrs Sucksby were.

She looked pointedly at my tight-laced waist and slender hips. "Well, I may not be much with fortunes, but I can see I'd have my hands full with you. Not had a child, 'ave you?"

"No, of course not," I squirmed and wished Maud would hurry up and get back. "But I'd rather you tell my fortune. These days I can't seem to see my way ahead… I can't be sure of my own past either."

I don't know why I should have said that to her when I was too afraid of telling it even to Maud. P'raps it's easier to confess yourself to strangers. The woman looked at me curiously for a moment, and then a rough-looking hand emerged from the folds of her mantle. "Then let's see your hand then."

"My hand?" I held them to my chest protectively.

She raised her brows. "You wanted your fortune."

"I thought you didn't believe in that," I looked at her suspiciously.

She lowered her arm and looked at me frankly with her green eyes. "I mightn't, but that don't matter none. I know the sick can be healed by nothing more than believing that they're healing. So, what I tell you might mean nothing to me; it's in what it means to you where the magic lies."

"Alright then," I told her, extending my hand.

"The other one," she said, nodding to my left.

"What's the difference?"

She took my left hand, palm up, and examined it closely so that her hair fell down and obscured her face. She lowered her voice, "My mother once said the right hand will only tell you what you already know, but the left hand shows the hidden soul."

She looked at my hand some more and then raised a twinkling eye and said chortled, "It's just that most folks right hands is so coarse and worn you can't make anything out of them."

I didn't know what to make of her. I was tempted to retrieve my hand but let it lie and instead said, "If you don't believe in it then you won't mind me asking why everyone thinks its bad omen if I ask about Mr Chislepick."

If I was expecting fireworks I was disappointed. The woman dropped her eyes and calmly examined my palm as if I hadn't uttered a word. She kept it up until I ventured to break the silence.

"I don't know him," I explained to her. "You see, I had family in these parts ages ago, and my friend and I found the house that was theirs. The woman there never heard of them, but I figured the landlord might of. She told us the rent was paid to a Mr Chislepick but then she got scared out of her wits when I thought of asking him."

"Can't be the same man," she muttered.

"Why not?" I said.

"I got no truck with omens, nor do I believe in spirits, but if ever a man was near to being the devil himself it's him, or so I've been told. No one's seen him; no one knows where he lives, or where he comes from, just that his name is mentioned by the lips of dying men who have been murdered."

"Murdered?" I exclaimed.

She looked up. "If your family knew Chislepick then he they ain't got no future to foretell. No one finds Chislepick, he finds you, and no fortune will save you."

Could it be the same man Mrs Skelton was so afraid of, I wondered? Surely these people wouldn't knowingly live with a murderer in their midst? And surely, I reasoned, she paid her rent to a man and not some phantom.

.

"Don't worry," I assured the woman. "Now you've explained it I won't ask after him again. I value my future too much."

She noticeably relaxed and returned her gaze to my hand. "Then lets see what it holds in store for you. Let's start 'ere. This one 'ere's your head line. Tells what kind of person you are. And the one just above it is your heart line, which tells how you love and what kind of person you'll fall in love with. Interesting; I see-"

"Yes go one; what about the others," I said hurriedly. I think I knew my heart, but I didn't want anybody else guessing at its secrets.

She cocked a curious eye at me but continued. "Well, this one that goes up an' down here is your fate line and this one is the life-"

"Fate line?" I interjected. "What's that?"

"Here," she indicated the line running up the middle of my palm, the one that crossed the others. "Also called the line of destiny."

"What's it say," I urged her. I drew close, trying to see as I felt the hardened skin of her finger draw a ticklish path on my hand.

"The bottom is your childhood. By the time it gets to the top it shows what's yet to come. See where it starts, how strong it is?"

"I see it. What's it mean?" I asked breathlessly.

"Strong purpose… a clear path, or one you can't get off of," she said murmured.

I thought of the awful fate Mrs Sucksby had planned for me and nodded. "What else d'you see?"

She shot me a look. "There's a break in the middle here."

"Yeah," I could see it myself. "It starts again."

"Yes, a new start or some new influence." She replied. "See where they curve to meet each other; that wee island right in the middle of your hand? That means something new, something apart from you. Another person, maybe, who has taken you from the path chosen for you before."

Maud! My heart was all a sudden going something fierce. How could it be all there, on my hand, I wondered? I had to hold my wrist with my free hand so she wouldn't feel my shaking.

"What's it say after that," I was almost afraid to ask. "Does it say what's to come?"

The woman moistened her lips as she traced the pattern. "The line breaks here, and here, where it crosses your heart line. Your heart line breaks, too, at the meeting."

She bit back her words, but I heard her sharp intake of breath.

"What?" I said.

She released my hand shaking her head. "You take it to heart too much, Miss. I told you it was naught but a trick to use on market days to earn a few -"

I thrust my hand in front of her. "No! There is something. You see it. Tell me!"

She sighed wearily and with great reluctance took up my outstretched hand. "You've worked yourself up for nothing, Miss. I'll tell you what was taught to me, but do as I do and treat it as nothing more than a game to play on long winter nights."

"Tell me what you see," I instructed her. "And don't say that I'll find some lost coin."

She nodded as she read the signs again and muttered, "The fate line breaks and grows faint. It signifies that this person has a great influence over your life. But see, the heart line curves to meet it there and the two come together and…"

"You say, 'but'," I said. "But what?"

"They stop there," she said, so low I could hardly hear. "There is nothing more, they're… broken. It means there will be a great heartbreak in your future."

"And that person," my voice trembled. "What happens to her?"

The woman shook her head. "The fate line ends too. There is nothing more. The influence is gone."

Gone! It couldn't be, I thought. I snatched my hand away and rubbed at it, as if I could erase the dire prophesy I just heard.

"What do you mean gone? Is she dead, or gone away?" I moaned and held my hand like it was a foreign thing.

"You take it too much to heart," she pleaded. "It may not mean anyone you know."

Nonsense, I thought. It must mean Maud. There was no one else whom I could claim as having any hold on me whatsoever. I looked at her desperately.

"Please, you must tell me what happens to her."

The woman wrung her hands. "I told you, it can't tell you that. It only says that the influence is ended."

"But it could mean she goes away … or worse!" I insisted.

She shrugged helplessly. "It could mean anything, or nothing. You must believe what you will."

I had to find Maud. I was sure if I told her what the woman said she would set me straight. For once I wished she'd give me one of her disapproving looks; I'd kiss her for it. My hand fumbled with my purse and I found myself thrusting coins, they might have been sovereigns even, into her hands.

"Take these… for your trouble," I said distractedly, all the while looking wildly for Maud, but the woman pushed them back at me.

"You're not in your right mind, Miss," she said fretfully.

"Then leave me alone!" I said unreasonably. "You've said enough!"

I shrugged off her hand and took a few hurried steps away from her. Some people stared, drawn by the commotion I caused, so I went away further still. Then on an impulse I slipped behind a great wagon whose sides rose above my head and found a secluded spot between it and a stack of tall crates that were piled high against the back of a fruit seller's stall. Hidden from view I leaned my head against it and shut my eyes until my breath slowed and my racing thoughts turned to nothing.

At my feet was a bucket of piss. That's what I saw when I finally opened my eyes. Probably was used by the fruit seller, though I'd have thought like as not he would've used the grass. I swallowed hard and stepped away from it. How long I'd been there with my eyes closed I couldn't guess. I felt a rising panic at the thought that Maud must be looking for me, but still I clutched at the wooden side of the cart and peered furtively round the back of it. The fortune-teller was no where to be seen, but I figured there must be a dozen people who must have seen me hide. On the other side of the crates I could just see the back of the fruit seller still plying his goods. What would they think a Lady was doing back there for so long, I wondered? Probably using that bloody piss-pot, I told myself. I smiled despite myself and felt better for it. Then I heard a familiar voice approaching from somewhere beyond the wooden crates.

I could have rushed to her but I was on the wrong side of the stall. Besides, how would I explain where I was? I decided to wait for her to pass and then slip out like I'd been looking for her all along. I peered between the boards of the crate in front of me and gave a start when I realized she was standing right in front of the fruit seller, not more than an arms length away. I held my breath knowing I'd feel doubly foolish if she caught me spying.

"Yes, they look very fine," I heard Maud say. "I would have one now but Mr Inker has already had them sent on to Briar."

Then a man's voice said, "Pity. Then I shall have to purchase a few now, so you will not have to go hungry."

Dammit, I thought. What were the odds that she would want some fruit from the very place I was hiding behind? I peered cautiously from behind the broad back of the fruit seller and I could see Maud's face turned to her left, but I couldn't see who she spoke to; he was just out of sight.

"Thank-you, but I shall get them myself," Maud said to him, and then to the fruit seller, "Just a couple; no, make that an even half dozen."

Who was that man, I wondered, and why was he trying to buy things for my Maud? At least I took some comfort in the fact that she rebuffed the fellow. There was some movement and Maud had handed over her basket. The fruit seller bent down behind the counter and began to fetch apples from a full crate, leaving me pretty much exposed to view. I was sure she would have seen me but for the fact she was looking at her new found companion.

"You must be hungry," I heard him say.

"The others may want one as well," Maud explained. "You may have one too if you wish."

"Then you must allow me to pay," he said. There was the jangle of money.

I was sure I'd heard his voice before, but the fruit man was up again and I could hardly see anything. I twisted to get a better angle to see past but the wretched crates lurched and creaked. In horror I saw the fruit man pause and turn toward the sound.

"No, I have it… here," Maud reached out her hand and the fruit man was forced to turn back to take the coin and return her basket to her without spying me. Maud took the basket and, reaching in, produced an apple which she held out with a rather coy expression on her face.

"I feel I owe you something at least," she said. I writhed inside my little wooden prison.

"Forget that," he said. "I am indebted to you for being the only pretty face I have recognized in this entire town."

Recognised? My chagrin almost turned to surprise. He knows her! I felt a twinge in my guts like I had that night at the Argyll Rooms, but looking, Maud didn't seem at all worried by the man's attentions; indeed her expression told me she welcomed them.

I strained to see him. I saw an arm reach for the proffered fruit, then a shoulder and then he came full into view. I was leaning so much I almost gave myself away for a second time. Then I saw his face and was surprised when I recognized him; it was Mr Lloyd, the same man we met in London!

In an instant I ducked down and tried to recall what I remembered about Mr Lloyd. A handsome man who showed an interest in Maud; or had I just imagined it? Anyway, he was a likable sort of man, but that didn't recommend him to me.

I carefully looked again. What was he doing here in Marlow, I wondered? I could only imagine he was following Maud. He looked as I remembered him in London, from the same pleasing features to the waves of blond hair that showed beneath his hat.

"Hullo, you there," I heard him say. I froze, thinking I was caught, but to my relief he was only speaking to the fruit seller. Maud started as Mr Lloyd took her basket from her.

"Aye?"

"What do you take us for?" Mr Lloyd held up Mud's basket. "Look at these… all bruised and dented. You did this on purpose!"

I saw Maud was blushing, but she gave the apples a critical look and then raised her brows at the seller. "Is this true?"

"Oh, I just grabs wot comes to hand, Miss. There's no 'arm intended wot ever the Gentleman said," he said stiffly. Maud looked to Mr Lloyd and I smiled when the seller took the opportunity to shoot him a murderous look.

Mr Lloyd sniffed, "Then you won't mind replacing these then."

By the time Maud looked back the fruit man was smiling kindly at her. "If that's wot the young Miss wants then I'll be more than happy to oblige."

Maud chewed her lip a second and seemed about to let it lie, but Mr Lloyd had already thrust the basket at the fruit man, so she conceded meekly. "If it is not too much trouble."

The fruit man bent down behind the counter, grumbling. Mr Lloyd wore a smug smile. He said to Maud, "You can't be too careful in these places, Miss Sucksby. They always keep the best on display while dishing out the rotten ones. It's the oldest trick. I've seen it before."

"Thank you, Mr Lloyd," Maud looked at him wide eyed. "How fortunate I am to have met you today."

_I've seen it before_, I mocked wordlessly while I rolled my eyes. Of course the fruit man saved the best ones for the display; they all do as everyone knows who hasn't been locked away in a library for half their life. Make that all their life, I thought cruelly. I had half a mind to come out of hiding right then and there and remind Maud that the oldest trick is for some randy Jack to feed a girl a load of the bleedin obvious and call it brains.

My opportunity to escape came when Maud finally set out to find me with Mr Lloyd walking by her side like some loyal dog. I slipped out the way I came, heedless of the stares my sudden reappearance caused, and raced all the way down aisle to beat Maud to the end of the one she was following, slowing only when I made the turn.

"Sue!" I heard her call and I saw her waving. Of course Mr Lloyd was there with her, still wearing that smug smile. Maud ran ahead of him and I couldn't help but rush to her eagerly as well.

"Where have you been?" she said breathlessly soon as she was near enough. "I came back and you were gone, so I thought you might have gone ahead without me."

I desperately wanted to tell her about the fortune teller; I needed to hear her admonish my warm imaginings, but that man was with her and I wouldn't do it in front of him. Still, it was all I could do not to hug her.

"Oh Maud, I would never leave you behind, ever!" I gushed.

My exuberance made her cock her head questioningly at me. I shouldn't have wondered; I was still winded from running and I could feel my skin growing clammy beneath my stays; God knows what I looked like. But she didn't have long to ponder why, cause a shadow crept up behind her. I could feel he had his eyes on me, but I didn't look up. I wouldn't gratify his vanity by letting him charm me so quickly.

Maud sensed him too. "Sue, you'll never guess who ran into! It is Mr Lloyd, from London. Do you remember him Sue?"

"Yes, I saw him," I said without enthusiasm.

Maud's furrowed her brow. "Saw him? When?"

"I mean…," I reddened and looked up belatedly. "I mean I remember him. Of course I do! What a surprise to find you here, Mr Lloyd."

I found him looking at me so directly I had a hard time meeting his gaze. He was dressed for riding; tall boots polished to a shine and a dark-green jacket with those big brass buttons that funnily enough reminded me of the riders depicted in the paintings that hung in the Reverend Moorhead's parlour. Strange, that I should think of that then. Mr Lloyd swept off his silk plush topper with a flourish and gave a small bow.

"Finally, I have the pleasure of meeting you again, Miss Lilly, though you must permit me to say that you cannot be half so surprised as I am at finding you here," he said.

"Me?" I asked wide-eyed.

"I think he means us both," Maud said discreetly.

"Oh," I nodded.

"Mr Lloyd has told me he just arrived here recently," explained Maud.

"Arrived… to Marlow?" I asked. It was hard to shake off the feeling that it was I who was the stranger among the three of us. "What for?"

Maud smirked at the ground and Mr Lloyd searched uncomfortably for some words in the clouds for a moment before he said, "Miss Sucksby, did you not say you and Miss Lilly were trying to catch the entertainment? I should never forgive myself if you miss it on my account."

Maud looked to me for directions so I took her arm and started in the direction I saw the young ones go earlier, though I avoided the place where I met the red haired woman. I noticed Mr Lloyd followed us, but I didn't draw Maud's attention to it figuring she must have invited him.

"I almost forgot; are you hungry, Sue?" Maud asked suddenly. "I have these apples."

I don't care for apples, lest they're baked, but said, "Lemme see."

"I bought them," she said while I reached for one. "But Mr Lloyd made sure they were good ones."

"Really?" I looked at him, and then at Maud. "Did you bargain the man down?"

"No," she admitted.

"Pity," I said as casually as I could. "Then you paid too much. They always ask double the first time, it's the oldest trick."

Maud looked to Mr Lloyd for an explanation, but he could only shrug helplessly.

I hid my smile behind a big bite out of my apple. It was delicious.

When Maud and I visited Marlow, that time before we went to London, I remember there was a flat stony outcrop in the field that reminded me of a stage. I recognised it the day we were there with Mr Lloyd. The music we had heard earlier was being played from on top of it so that the players could be seen a little above the rest of the folk gathered at the back of the market. There was a clearing in front of the players for the listners and behind them the colourful stalls of the market made a festive backdrop, like a country version of the Olympic theatre.

When we arrived they were in the middle of a jig being played by some old men who were fresh off the fields by the look of them. There was a fiddle, a tin whistle and a drum. I was surprised how much noise three men could make. The song was sprightly and the players had worked themselves into a right lather. In front of them there was a wide circle of people clapping and stamping encouragement to a group of dancers in the centre. I could hardly make the dancers out through the bodies in front of us but I could see that the jovial mood of the crowd had already infected Maud. She strained on her tip toes to see and her teeth gleamed behind her smile.

"C'mon!" I shouted, pulling her deeper into the crowd with no heed as to whether Mr Lloyd followed us or not.

It was such hard work trying to squeeze past all those strapping dairy maids and hulking farmers that at first I made little headway. Maud lost my hand in the crush and she laughed and lunged to catch it again.

"Be careful, Sue; your dress!" Maud warned me.

Her sweet voice was so unlike their own that everyone near us turned to look for the speaker, and once they saw who was trying to get through they all made a great show of standing to one side to make an aisle for us. My guess is that they didn't see too many strangers at these sorts of celebrations, or at least no one who could half afford the clothes I was wearing.

Ahead of us we saw the dancers arrayed in two lines, doing a dance that looked like the Coverly. That arm-in-arm kind of dancing that we did in London was obviously too bold for their country sensibilities, I thought wickedly, but looking at how they threw themselves into the reel I saw they got every bit of pleasure from it as anyone I ever witnessed in the Argyll Rooms; more even. The working aprons and overalls had been put away and some of the men had added a necktie and waistcoat to the dungarees they had been working in. The younger men danced with the most enthusiasm and were bold enough to cavort in just their shirtsleeves. The girls had removed their pinafores and bonnets and just tied their hair back with a handkerchief to let the rest of it tumble down their backs. The music was uncomplicated, but fast, and the dancer's happy, open faces made me yearn to be part of it all.

The music ended to much clapping and hooting. Maud and I both looked to the stage; Maud looking as alarmed as I felt at the thought we had missed everything, but we saw they were only changing up the couples. I felt Maud's hand tighten on my arm and when I looked at her she was looking longingly to the centre of the circle, straining against an invisible leash.

"Let's do it!" I urged her.

She shook her head, but it was too obvious she wanted to. I took a step forward and tugged at her sleeve.

"C'mon," I assured her. "I never done it either, but you see how easy it is."

Actually, that was a lie; back in the day, that girl Dainty could never bear to hear Mr Ibbs whistle a tune without jumping up and childishly demanding that we all dance a reel. Course with only four of us it weren't a proper line but the steps are pretty near the same everywhere.

"Aye, Miss, come and join us!"

It was the boy who had tormented the fortune teller; the one she called Billy. He was with one of those girls you see everywhere in the country; big bosomy things with legs like hams and the smell of sour milk and manure following them everywhere. After he spoke a dozen sets of admiring eyes turned in our direction and I saw a lot of nodding and the word, 'Briar', was solemnly exchanged. I snorted; nothing makes people warm to you like spending a few sovereigns on them. Genuine or not, at least it was all the encouragement Maud needed.

"Alright, Sue," she said bravely and stepped into the circle.

There were some cheers and hoots as we stepped forward and took our places. I took a spot with the men; a thing no one minded. I figured a Lady dancing with her companion can't have been that unusual, or maybe they just turned a blind eye on account we were from Briar, which still seemed to count for something among these folk.

Anyway, I was beaming proud to have Maud opposite me in the line, by far the most beautiful girl out of all of them. Maud's face was flushed from all the attention but as soon as the players started up I could see she quickly found out just how childishly simple it was to do something like the Coverly and after a few passes we could watch each other rather than our neighbour. I used to think these old fashioned dances were something you only did with your relatives, cause the closest you got to your partner was to touch your palms together, but what I never appreciated was just how tantalising it could be to do it with someone you loved. Maud hiked her skirts up to do the steps, flashing her ankles at me just like the common girls beside her, and when we came together in the middle I winked at her and then we giggled like children. And then there was the part when the other couples make an arch out of their arms; when it was our turn to run underneath we laughed louder than any of them did. We finished the dance back in our lines watching each others bright eyes and shining face while our chests heaved from the exertion.

"Christ Maud, I'm going to faint!" I told her.

"If you did not have your laces so tight," she gently admonished me while taking my arm to lead me off as the couples changed.

Roguishly, I was about to suggest that she might remove them altogether after we got back to Briar, but then Mr Lloyd suddenly appeared at Maud's side.

"Miss Lilly, you overexert yourself," he admonished. "Will you allow me to ask Miss Sucksby for a dance so you may catch your breath?"

He said it loud enough so that the couples taking to the field paused lest there was not room enough for one more and I couldn't help but bristle inwardly at his smiling demeanour. The prospect of him dancing with my Maud was bad enough without the galling task of actually having to grant him permission, but to refuse him would mortify Maud to no end, I was sure.

"Ask her yourself," I told him and then, before he could, I said to Maud, "…but I guess you're too tired."

Maud took one wistful look at the assembled dancers and with an apologetic shrug said, "I think I can manage one more try."

So I had to watch from the side as she took his arm and stepped into the circle, but not before he handed his coat and crop to the woman nearest at hand with no more regard than if she were his maid. I bridled at the presumption, but even more so cause the woman didn't mind none either. Everyone was taken with Mr Lloyd.

The music started up again and Maud and Mr Lloyd shared a smile as the dance began. The smooth bastard, I thought irritably; like he's doing me a great favour dancing with her. Part of me hoped he couldn't dance at all, but who was I kidding, the steps were too simple and of course he was as good as any man there. I took some comfort from the fact it wasn't a waltz, but still I winced every time they touched hands. I had to remind myself that wasn't this exactly what I wanted for Maud; a place we could call home, with society that was entirely unconnected with our past? Every time she looked at his face I tried to be happy for her, if not for myself, and when they came off I plastered a grin on my face and told them that they were the best couple of them all.

Maud and I danced one more time and my injured pride was somewhat mollified when I found we smirked and laughed at each other in that way I never saw when she danced with Mr Lloyd, and when all the dancing was over it was Maud who sought me out to take my arm even though Mr Lloyd insisted on accompanying us back to the cart.

With Maud's arm firmly in mine I found it easy to forgive her for having belittled our discovery at Mrs Skelton's. Judged against the glow of contentment that I basked in after the dance I began to wonder whether I really had placed too much significance on a name carved on a post. Where had it got me, I wondered? By comparison Mr Lloyd's sudden appearance seemed to have made a lot more of an impression on Maud, much to my chagrin. However, his company seemed to please her and I had to remind myself not to let unwarranted jealousy cloud my opinion of the man.

Maud drew me closer. "How do you suppose he ended up here in Marlow?" she murmured.

Mr Lloyd was just in front of us but out of easy earshot. I found it disconcerting to know she'd been thinking of him at the same time.

"I dunno, why don't you ask him?" I suggested.

She shook her head. "I couldn't. You ask him. You're…"

I bristled. "What? Coarse,… common?"

Her face softened and I felt her fingers gently squeeze my arm. "I was about to say braver."

"Oh," I replied. I wished Mr Lloyd wasn't there and it was just Maud and me arm in arm, like in the old days before the disaster in London. I wondered how much of her present mood was entirely due to his presence. I looked at her face. There was a blush to her cheek that in another time I would have been proud to say I put there, or it might have been on account of the dancing. The other possibility was one I was loath to explore. She couldn't really be attracted to Mr Lloyd, could she?

After all, no one is immune to a bit of flattery, especially if it comes from an attentive gentleman. It doesn't mean anything if the effort is all on his part, I reasoned. Of course he was attracted to her; why shouldn't he be? Even I had to admit he was not an unpleasant man, judging solely by appearances.

"So?" Maud made eyes at Mr Lloyd's back.

"Alright, I'll do it," I muttered.

Maud smiled warmly and disengaged my arm.

"What, now?" I asked. She gave me a little push.

I had to bat her away when she tried to push me some more. "I said I'll do it!" I hissed.

Turning I found Mr Lloyd looking back to see what the commotion was.

I stepped forward and said, "Why ever _did_ you come to Marlow, Mr Lloyd? Surely it weren't just to see our little market here."

Mr Lloyd found the question amusing and there was an impish glint from his blue eyes.

"Would you believe me if I told you I followed you and Miss Sucksby?" he said while he began walking backwards in front of me and Maud to more easily address us both.

"I might if I believed you," I said and then swallowed. "…did you?"

He broke into a grin and leaned toward Maud conspiratorially. "This coming from the young Lady who once accused me of trying to force her to pay her hotel bill, and of secreting invitations in the pocket of her coat."

Maud's coat, I clearly recalled, but I could feel the heat rising up my cheeks nonetheless. Maud shared a smile with him at my expense.

"You are teasing her," Maud warned him with mock severity before she gave me a reassuring nudge. I wondered how she could be so sure he was.

"Then you deny it?" I challenged him.

"Sue," Maud protested but Mr Lloyd waved it off.

"No, Miss Sucksby, I must plead guilty to trying Miss Lilly's patience As to the other charge I am entirely innocent. The truth is it is my father who has taken a house here. He has been looking for a quiet place that is within striking distance of London. He has business interests that need take him into the city occasionally, but wishes to live in the country. So you see, Ladies, it is because I am dependent upon his generosity that I am here and nothing else."

He was focusing on Maud. _Nothing else_, … I doubted that. He then caught the scepticism in my eye and chuckled to Maud.

"I see Miss Lilly is not convinced. In truth I had no choice but to come, but now that I am here I can honestly say I have discovered more than one reason to stay."

The smooth bastard missed no opportunity to flatter, I thought. To my consternation I saw Maud blush, and I was trying to think of something biting when he said, "For example, since I have come here I have discovered this charming little market, and also this delightful antique!"

Mr Lloyd had turned as he spoke and stopped just short of where Mr Inker waited, holding onto the bridle of our horse with obvious impatience. He might have been referring to Mr Inker, and while I must admit I have often thought of him as a lovable old man, he wasn't what Mr Lloyd was looking at.

"That is our cart," Maud drew her brows together.

I had noticed just how shabby that cramped little dog-cart really was compared to even the worst we saw in London, but compared to what the farmers and villagers of Marlow had, well… at least we had one. Mr Lloyd was bending down inspecting the axels and the wheels. Mr Inker stroked our horse's mane like he was worried our old nag might be offended by such close scrutiny. Maud and I looked at each other like Mr Lloyd had gone mad.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Maud asked. Maybe she thought Mr Lloyd had found something broken.

"No, it is fantastic!" he said enthusiastically. Maud and I were baffled and stood rooted. He straightened and came back to us.

"Allow me to explain. My father collects old carriages and carts. He has one almost as old as this but he wouldn't dream if hitching it up for fear of ruining it."

He was pulling our leg, I was certain. I was tempted to ask him to give me a hundred pounds for it if he thought it so valuable, but knew Maud would have thought that a low thing to say.

"It's good enough for our purposes," I said defensively. "Here, you can see it work first-hand because Maud and I have to go now."

"We do?" Maud replied, crestfallen.

I took her firmly by the arm. "Yes, we've kept Mr Inker waiting long enough."

I steered her to the back of the cart, but Mr Lloyd was undeterred.

"Then allow me to accompany you back home," he said with a flash of his teeth. "My father would never forgive me if I didn't see you home safely."

I would have declined the offer right off, but Maud's eyes entreated me. Mr Lloyd readied himself to hand her up.

"There's not enough room," I retorted.

"Never fear, I have my horse," he held up his crop.

I could see I didn't have much choice. Grumpily I pushed past him and handed Maud up into the cart myself, though none too gently. Undeterred, Mr Lloyd insisted on handing me up, despite my sighs, and I was soon sitting opposite Maud with her sober eyes relentlessly following my face everywhere.

"Come if you like," I said tersely. "Briar's not far, but you may well give up when you see the pace of our horse."

"Then I will do my best not to fall too far behind," he said cheekily, which drew a laugh from Maud.

I had to smile at him. "Get on with you." And then to Maud more severely, "You too."

We left him to find his horse and then catch up to us, so for the first part of the way we were alone together. To forestall me asking more questions about her and Mr Lloyd, Maud asked me where I had gone after she left me alone in the market. I muttered something about looking around. I didn't tell her about the fortune teller. She would have probably thought me daft for listening to the woman in the first place. Of course I didn't mention I had spied on her from behind the fruit seller.

It was Maud who spotted him since she was facing backwards across from me.

"Look, here he comes," she said.

I could hear the sound of horse's hooves cantering on the road behind up. I craned my neck, cause I was facing the wrong way. Even at that distance I could tell it was him cause I could see his blond curls peeking out from below his hat. He looked every inch a gentleman too; waving from the back of his horse with careless ease, his silk plush topper gleaming with a light that defied the dull day. He spurred his horse to cover the remaining distance at a gallop, going so fast he had to hold onto his hat in the rushing wind. Bloody show-off, I thought. It would serve him right if he broke his neck! From the corner of my eye I could see Maud watching the spectacle breathlessly. I discovered I was gripping the side of the cart unnaturally hard and willed myself to turn back to Maud so as not to give him the satisfaction. There was colour in her cheeks. The cock amongst the hens, I thought to myself. Maud suddenly looked at me like I had said it aloud and I blushed.

I could tell by the sound that Mr Lloyd had slowed to an easy trot well short of us. To catch his breath and look his best for us, I thought wryly. He came alongside and Maud smiled and waved to him. I tried to look indifferent but waved anyway when he tipped his hat. He didn't speak, there was not much to say, conversation being difficult over the noise from the road and the jostling of the cart. Anyway, he was too polite to make us raise our voices. For the rest of the way I didn't know where to rest my eyes. When I looked at Maud I imagined I felt his probing eyes on me and when I looked at him I was all too conscious of Maud's regard, so I settled at staring at the weeds growing on the verge.

"Miss Sucksby," I heard him call after a long while. I looked up to find he had manoeuvred his horse close beside us. "I fear Miss Lilly did not exaggerate about the pace of your horse. I believe my own has fallen asleep beneath me. Would either of you be very angry if I went on ahead?"

I opened my mouth to tell him he might do whatever he wanted but Maud got there first.

"Be my guest," she called. "We are almost there. It is down the lane, on the left. You cannot miss it."

He gave his horse the reins and he was off again in a clatter of hooves. Up front I could see Mr Inker shaking his head disapprovingly. Maud craned her neck to watch him ride. When she turned back I averted my eyes so she wouldn't know I had been watching her. Mr Lloyd wasn't gone long. He came back at a gallop and I saw Maud's hand involuntarily go to her mouth as he swept past us only to pull his mount around hard accompanied by a frightful lot of blowing and tossing. Admittedly, it was hard not to be impressed with his riding. His horse settled once more, grateful for the easy pace.

"Did you find it to your liking?" Maud called out.

He cocked his head at her. "Find it? Why there is nothing there."

Maud screwed up her face. "Nothing; you mean you could not find it?"

"I went down the lane in the direction you indicated but only came across a tangled wood. I dared not go further. I am sure it holds all sorts of dangers," he said ominously.

"Woods?" Maud frowned, perplexed, until I gave her a nudge and when she saw the look on my face she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I see…," she made a face. "That was indeed Briar, Mr Lloyd."

"Forgive me," he grinned. "It may not be so very wild… but I'm sure I am correct about the dangers."

He urged his horse forward before we could say anything in reply.

We lapsed once more into silence. Once we both looked at each other at the same time and just as quick averted our gaze. I think we were both guilty of thinking about him again. Mr Inker turned us at the gatehouse and in the distance we could see Mr Lloyd waiting for us in front of Briar. He had dismounted and nearby his horse grazed on the clumps of grass that spilled onto the gravel from the weedy borders. Maud eyed me.

"I wonder if he will wait for us," she suddenly said over the noise of the wheels. When I made no reply she tried again. "What a coincidence that he lives so near to us. He could visit, … maybe."

I acknowledged her words with a tight smile. She tried to read my features but soon gave up and looked at the trees. Our horse, sensing he was done for the day, trotted down the home stretch for his oats. Maud stole a quick glance forward and saw we were almost there. With exaggerated composure she gazed at the trees again.

"I wonder if he'll call on us ever again?" she wondered aloud. To her consternation I avoided her gaze and looked noncommittally at the road ahead. It was obvious she was itching to invite Mr Lloyd to come back for a visit but was simply afraid I'd say no out of spite. Well, I reasoned, why not refuse? It was within my right. As the Mistress of the house our connection with Mr Lloyd was in my hands, to make or break, a position, I remember, that gave me a delicious feeling of power.

I said nothing, just to frustrate her, and in another minute Mr Lloyd was handing us down.

He cast a satisfied eye over my house. "Judging from what Miss Sucksby told me, I was expecting Briar to be no more than a comfortable cottage, but what a surprise to find so many rooms."

I watched his gaze sweep over the walls; probably counting the windows and chimneys. Put this type of country gentleman in London and he'd run a pawn shop, I thought.

"It has been in Sue's family for generations, I believe. Perhaps she will show it to you sometime," Maud said suggestively.

I saw the colour creeping up her neck at so obvious a ploy. Mr Lloyd took the bait easily.

"I hope so. I would like that very much," he said to me and raised his eyebrows expectantly, but I would not be hooked so easily. I began to lazily brush my skirt of the dirt picked up from the cart rather than give them the answer they wanted.

After a bit I said, "You said your father has taken a place in Marlow, Mr Lloyd. Is it close to Briar?"

He eyes told me he knew I was playing coy with him but he answered the question anyway.

"Let me see," he said, and shaded his eyes in the direction we had come. "If I'm right the house itself is closer to Marlow than to Briar, but the property extends far in this direction. I believe it goes as far as the river."

"Then we must be neighbours!" Maud brightened. She had on this air of expectation, like being neighbours settled the matter irrevocably in her favour.

I clicked my tongue. "Neighbours? What, are you planning on putting a bridge across the river or something?"

That was too much for Maud. In stony silence she fixed me with a baleful gaze. Mr Lloyd looked appraisingly at me and Maud in turn and decided that beating a retreat was the prudent thing to do.

"I think I'd better get my horse before he wanders off," he suggested diplomatically.

"Thank-you, Mr Lloyd, for the pleasure of your company today. I hope we haven't made you late for your other appointments," I said formally while I stepped forward and extended my hand to him to signal the visit was over.

"Not at all," he mumbled mechanically and I saw him glance nervously past my shoulder where I could hear Maud kicking at the gravel while she sulked. When I accompanied him to his horse I could feel her eyes shooting daggers at my back.

He swung himself up in one easy motion and tipped his hat to us.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lilly, Miss Sucksby. I do hope we meet again," he said and took up the reins and turned his horse around. I then decided I had tortured Maud enough.

"Mr Lloyd," I called, coming as close as I dared out of respect for his horse. "If you're free tomorrow would you mind coming back for tea? I could show you round if you like. 'Course there's not much to see, Maud and I live quite modestly, you know. I'd get Maud to show you the place but I don't think she's got a mind to, you know… lack of propriety and all. She already figures I'm too bold asking you in the first place, but the way I see it there's nothing improper in it, seeing as how we're practically neighbours."

"I never!" her indignant voice made me stifle a giggle.

She was almost upon me with her hands on her hips and fire in her eyes. I burst out laughing which only made her more riled, to the point where she raised her hands against me. With a shriek more of mirth than fear I backed right into Mr Lloyds horse, which started it stamping.

"That's done it!" I shouted amongst the sounds of hooves, Maud's furious breathing and Mr Lloyd trying to control the horse. "She's got her dander up, Mr Lloyd! You'd better clear out while you can."

Maud battered away at my upraised arms as Mr Lloyd fought with the reins. "Ladies, please!" he cried.

Fright made me laugh all the harder and I could feel Maud's assault slacken. By then I could see from behind my upraised arms that she was laughing too. Then the horse's rear-end came round and threw me into Maud and with a shriek we both fell to the ground.

"Are you mad?" Mr Lloyd cried and reined his horse to a safe distance. Maud and I clung to each other out of fear of the plunging beast until Mr Lloyd had it under control again and our stretched nerves had calmed to the point where we were just giggling. But just looking at one another's heaving features was enough to start us laughing all over again.

Maud finally got up and heaved me to my feet and we brushed the dead leaves from each other's clothes under Mr Lloyd's disapproving eye.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt? You could have been killed," he admonished the two of us. We hung our heads like naughty children and then looked at the leaves in each other's hair and started giggling again.

"Goodbye then," he said with an exasperated gasp.

Maud broke away from me. "But you will come tomorrow?" she asked him.

"Yes, you've got to," I joined her.

He drew himself up in the saddle. "I don't know if I care to now, but I will, against my better judgement."

I thought maybe I'd gone too far, but then we saw his impish grin. I waved him away. "Get on with you."

Maud playfully rebuked me by hitting me once more and I pushed her back. "And you too, Maud."

Mr Lloyd rode away at a trot and we could see him shaking his head long after he left us.

I woke the next morning to a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, which I knew deep down could only have been be on account of Mr Lloyds impending visit. Inviting him seemed like such a lark the day before, a harmless way to indulge Maud, but when the day had come I was struck by what a gamble it was to play games with Maud's affections in regards to a man like Mr Lloyd. It felt a lot like I did that day, long ago, when I first left London for Briar; a feeling that there was no going back.

I stared out the window while I mechanically assembled myself; pantalettes and shimmy, stays, stockings and petticoat, finally blouse on top, everything but my skirt and bodice. For them I decided to wait until I knew how warm it would be. The weather was unnaturally clear that morning… and warm. So much so that I imagined the beams coming in were hot enough to scorch my fingers if I let them linger in the heat for more than a moment. In fact the weather had changed so much during the night that it felt like the whole winter had passed me by while I slept.

I would need something light, I decided, but chose to linger by the window. Outside, the fallen leaves that were scattered across the lawn glowed gold in the soft morning light and the ones still hanging on the branches fluttered like flickering flames before they too, one by one, fell to the ground. To think I'd never witnessed the spectacle before; what all those folk in London are missing! It was a shame Mr Inker had to rake them up. Fascinated, I tried to spy a leaf just as it let go the branch, but try as I might I could not quite catch the moment. Behind me Maud moved about the dressing room.

She and I had hardly spoken since we rose. That in itself was not unusual. Anyone who's lived with someone in such close affection as me and Maud could tell you there are hours, days even, where words simply aren't necessary, where everything that needs to be said is understood just by being there.

But that morning was not one of those days. Rather it was one of those times when every word must be examined and turned over and searched for incriminating evidence, and then by the time you deem it safe to speak, the time to say it has quite passed you by. If I thought the room was dusty I couldn't mention it on account Maud might imagine I was only worried Mr Lloyd would see it , or if I thought her hair was nice I had to bite my tongue cause she might think I was somehow accusing her of trying to impress him. I was even afraid to comment on the weather out of fear that Maud would suspect I was marking the day of Mr Lloyd's visit as being particularly exceptional. It all sounds silly in hindsight, but that's the truth.

"What are you looking at?" asked Maud from somewhere in the room.

I peeled myself away from the window, sure that the next leaf would fall the moment I looked away. Maud glided slowly around the room and picked up a glass paperweight from the small writing desk and then put it back again, in no hurry to dress any further than her under-things.

"Nothing," I replied, and moved back to the clothes press that I had opened before. I felt Maud's eyes following closely as I let my hands hover in turn over crisp muslin, shiny silk or soft marino. To think it was the chance to get my hands on such things that finally swayed me to join with Gentleman against her! I paused every so often but did not choose any of them, just to pique Maud's curiosity. I had no doubt that if I chose something fashionable Maud would conclude I did it only to catch Mr Lloyd's eye. I knew she might then choose a bold taffeta gown, just to be the brightest star or, more likely, a plain calico just to prove to him I was vain. Why do you think she'd not dressed yet? She was waiting to choose something to show herself to best advantage, obviously. Well, I figured, two could play at that game. So I feigned indecision and made my way back to the window. I had to hide a smile as I caught Maud's reflection regarding my back sourly and then she finally gave up and stomped to the dresser to fetch a pair of stays. Out of the corner of my eyes I watched her struggle with the hooks until I could stand it no longer.

"Here, let me help you," I offered.

She shook her head and turned away, child-like, so I couldn't watch. I still looked a while longer and then let her be. She didn't really need any help with her stays. She had taken to using the same pattern that I used, the ones that had the hooks in front so she could fasten them without my help. The reason was, in her words, that she didn't want me doing the work of servants, which is funny cause ever since then we dressed by ourselves, like servants must, rather than dress each other like Ladies, but I dared not say that to her face. Who was I, a common London girl, to tell whether she was more, or less, a Lady? Christ, for all I knew she was planning to cut her hair short and demand the vote.

I suddenly grew tired of the childish game and grabbed something from the clothes press and dressed quickly, setting the hooks and strings of the skirt and bodice before Maud had even finished with her stays. It was a plain unadorned dress with a simple pleated skirt, but made of dark blue shot silk that deepened the colour depending on which way the light hit it. A clever touch for a sunny day, I thought.

"If you don't need me I'm going to find Mrs Inker and see about breakfast," I said.

Without waiting for an answer I left the room, and had almost closed the door behind me when I heard a sudden movement. "Wait!"

She had her face crammed into the doorway. She must've leapt across the room like a bleedin' deer! There was a curious gleam to her brown eyes.

"We'll have breakfast in the parlour downstairs. I'll meet you there in a minute," she said quickly and, after flashing the briefest of smiles, left me staring at the closed door. How strange, I thought; Maud and I had always eaten our breakfast in the upstairs parlour by the bedroom. Nonplussed, I shrugged and went downstairs to look for Mrs Inker.

I started in the kitchen, cause that's where she always could be found in the morning, hanging fresh bundles of herbs, pouring off some of the cream from the day's milk, setting the water on the hot stove for tea or boiled eggs. But today the normally cheery kitchen was empty. I went to the stove but knew before I got there that it was cold.

"Now what?" I sighed. I went to the front parlour on the hunch that she might be getting an early start cleaning the place, but there was no one there either. The empty hearth reminded me that I had told Mrs Inker the day before that we would need coal from the cellar for when he came. Probably doing just that, I thought, but I would have thought Mr Inker would have done the heavy lifting for her. Perhaps, I speculated, Maud had set him to work making the front shrubbery look tidy… for Mr Lloyd, of course.

"It's like the bloody Queen is coming," I muttered as I passed through the pantry on my way to the cellar. Suddenly there was the patter of feet behind me and through the open pantry door behind me I spied the tell-tale flash of a white apron. Retracing my steps I caught her as she was mounting the stairs with her arms full of parcels. I couldn't even see her face there were so many boxes of different shapes and colours. Of course I knew them at once as the many things we had had sent over from London.

"Mrs Inker?" I called.

The woman stopped so suddenly that the tower of parcels swayed, and I was afraid she'd topple herself trying to balance them. Then her face appeared from one side.

"Morning, Miss Lilly," she said between breaths. "I'll attend to the breakfast shortly, just as soon as I finish with Miss Maud. This is the last of the lot."

She gave a worried glance up the stairs, measuring the effort required to reach the summit. It was obvious by her complexion that it was just one of several such journeys already that morning. Had we purchased so many things in London, I wondered? Mrs Inker saw the perplexed look I was giving her and hesitated, glancing suddenly at the boxes as if they'd just appeared out of thin air.

"Miss Maud's things," she explained.

"I can see that," I said sharply, convinced that our stay at the George had been an unseemly extravagance. What had I been thinking spending half a year's income on coloured cloth and ribbons? At least I wore mine sometimes, Maud had stored most of her things away in an empty room on the pretext of never having use for them. _Until now_, I thought, the day that Mr Lloyd was coming of all days. I could hear my own breathing whistling through my nose. Mrs Inker looked anxiously up the stairs, unsure whether I had dismissed her.

"She told me to bring them to her," she reminded me.

She never told me, I thought to myself, but then why would she? After all, I had bought them for her. I even remembered that it was less than a fortnight earlier that I had suggested she might wear her new clothes more often just so they didn't go to waste. I thought it might cheer her up. Mrs Inker was still waiting, so I jerked my head at the stairs.

"Go on then," I said. Never before had I felt so irked at being accommodating.

"Yes, Miss," she said dutifully and started up the stairs. "Oh, by the way, Miss… you're supposed to wait for your breakfast in-"

"The parlour down 'ere, yes I know!" I snapped. She flinched and then scurried away upstairs. Unreasonable anger flooded me and I lifted my face to the empty stairwell.

"Yeah, and I want the parlour clean like for this afternoon!" I shouted.

I listened to her unsteady footsteps all the way to the next landing. I knew I shouldn't have spoken to her like that; really she'd done nothing at all, which made me all the angrier with myself. I decided a bit of coffee would do me good, so I started for the parlour, but then remembered there weren't no breakfast waiting for me. _Fuck_, I spat under my breath and then headed for the kitchen to grab an apron.

Mr Inker found me squatting on the kitchen floor trying to get some kindling into the stove when he came in from outside. _Now he shows_, I grumbled and slammed a larger chunk of wood into the stove, though I'd already more than enough to start the coal. I felt Mr Inker watching me - probably couldn't imagine what I was doing there - which only made me keep on playing the scullery maid, just to rub it in.

"You know Miss," he said, in no hurry to relieve me. "You could always get a girl to do some of the chores. I'm sure any of the girls from Marlow would give anything to go into service-"

I had shot him a look that made him stop. I'm sure he meant it kindly, but in my state of mind I couldn't help but remember that Maud told me much the same thing. Had she been talking to the Inkers, I wondered?

"You're in my light," I growled.

"Miss, you'll ruin your fine things doing that. Better step aside and let me," he said. I squinted up at the old man and saw the deep lines of his face arranged in that kindly expression usually reserved for humouring the very young… or the mad.

"I can manage. I'm only boiling water," I said brusquely and threw the next chunk so hard I heard it hit the back of the stove with a satisfying thud.

"Aye Miss, and you'll be getting' enough steam up to take us all the way to Newcastle," he commented mildly.

"What, it's not too much is it?" I said, but I'd shoved enough inside for a bonfire. I felt the heat rising up my face like the wood was already burning.

"It'll get the water going faster," I suggested feebly.

"Faster? I'd say!" chuckled the old man. "With a fire like that I could melt down that ol kettle into horseshoes. And how would you explain to Miss Maud how her toast was burnt all to ashes?"

Maud again. The mention of her name reminded me that while Mr Inker might have to answer to her, I certainly didn't. I stood up so quick it frightened him.

"I would tell Miss Maud that she can make her own bleedin toast," I told him.

Mr Inker looked thoughtful but evidently decided it was better not to comment and, without being asked, began to remove most of the wood from the stove. After a while he spoke again, the stove making his voice sound hollow and distant.

"What I meant was, Miss" he blundered on. "Now that you've started having guests I thought you might need some more help so when the next time the young man comes by-"

"Next time?" I cut him off. "Who said anything about next time! What has Maud told you?"

Mr Inker blenched. "Nothing, Miss… least nothing but that he's coming today. I just figured… I don't know what, Miss."

My features must have looked menacing, 'cause he cringed fearfully during my outburst. In fact he reminded me of a dog I once saw in the Borough that was beaten by a man with a stick. It yelped and yelped but didn't run away because the man was its master and it hadn't any choice but to take it. Actually, that might have been a child I saw, but Mr Inker was no dog, and I felt ashamed at the way I had behaved to both him and his wife. If he got it into his head that Mr Lloyd was going to be a fixture round here than that was certainly his right. After all, Maud gave him no indication he was wrong. That thought alone took all the fire out of my belly.

"Sorry," I mumbled. Mr Inker regarded me curiously while I collected myself. I felt weary all a sudden, like the pugilist who leans against his opponent with no fight left in him. "I'm going to wait in the parlour. If you see Mrs Inker could you tell her that Maud and I will take our coffee there?"

The great lines of his face rearranged themselves and softened into a gentle smile and he said, "I'll see to the coffee, Miss. Don't you worry 'bout anything."

Maud and I rarely used the front parlour, and I never gave it a thought until the day Mr Lloyd was to visit us. Then it was like seeing it for the first time. As soon as I entered the room I turned on the spot and did a quick survey of the parlour, trying to see it through the eyes of a stranger. I spotted dust on the mantelpiece and drifts of it in the corners. The wainscoting beneath the bay window had discoloured and cracked from the seeping water. I wondered what our guest would think when he saw it? I couldn't bear to see Maud in Mr Lloyds company, but I couldn't bring myself to scare him off by letting him see how shabby Briar was. The last thing I wanted was for him, or anyone else for that matter, to think that I was some low sneak masquerading as a lady, one who neglected her house purposefully until it resembled nothing more than the London slums that she called home. I remembered how he'd already taken note of my accent. At least propriety prevented him from sniffing about the house uninvited. If he did he'd find out how Maud had hawked all the furniture in most of the bedrooms and the morning room, (no great loss since it had been shut-up since my mother died and the mice had got at the furniture). Even the rear parlour stood empty and was only used for storing Maud's things.

Thank God Maud had had the sense to leave at least one room intact, even if the parlour was a bit worn. The sofa was lumpy and the upholstery on the arm of the large wing-backed chair by the hearth was frayed (I can only imagine) from Mr Lilly constantly picking at the spot when he used to sit there. I thought the glass baubles and paintings were awful. Admittedly I couldn't see that anyone would have wanted the stuff even if Maud had tried to sell it. Maybe she _had_ tried to sell them, I thought humourlessly.

It weren't all bad, though. The parlour wasn't so very cluttered with the junk found in most rooms in those days, judging by what I'd seen in my youth that had been purloined by London housebreakers from the nicer neighbourhoods. I had to be thankful that Mr Lilly's strange taste in collecting hadn't extended any further than books, or perhaps he'd been so wrapped up in his mania that he simply left the rooms as he found them? At least there were none of the ball-fringed draperies that Mrs Sucksby warned me were to be found all through the houses of the better classes. I started to have a better appreciation for the work put into even an ugly room, and sighed at the thought of the effort required to make my one room presentable. I realised I should have started on it long ago. Too long had I been in the habit of thinking that Briar was someone else's house rather than mine.

Behind me the creaking door announced that Maud had finally come down at last. When I saw her dress I knew right off what all the secrecy was about. She'd chosen her dress well, as I knew she would. It was of silk, in a yellow that I'd been assured would make it the envy of the Season. The price of the fabric alone would suffice for that, I thought cynically. Over her shoulders hung a shawl of the palest blue silk, cunningly woven to be as gossamer as dragonfly wings. Together they were like the sky above a field of sunflowers that I'd seen in a print once. Fine embroidery made a raised pattern on the bodice below the curved neckline that exposed her throat. The sleeves left most of her arms uncovered. We had the dress cut to the latest style – not so very wide in the skirt. The new fashions swapped the big crinoline for what was really just a petticoat stiffened with horsehair, like in the old days. So the skirt was slimmer, useful for preventing carelessly placed teacups from being swept to the floor, (I still preferred my skirts wide, they made me feel like a Lady) but the new style required you to keep your stays laced ever so tight if you were to have any figure at all; not a problem for Maud, who's always been as thin as a wasp. She was beautiful beyond measure in it. The only problem being I had intended that she wear it for me.

"Well," I said shortly. "Don't we make a pair?"

If she thought I was being sarcastic she didn't let on, but smiled at me.

"What a lovely warm day," she enthused and ran her hands over her hips. "I thought I should wear this while I still had the chance."

Chance at what, I wondered? To wear it while it was warm enough, or while you could still catch his eye? If she'd gone out of her way to outdo me in dress she couldn't have made a better choice.

Maud's smile was fast becoming brittle. "What is it? Don't you like it?"

I engrossed myself with the trinkets on the occasional table beside me. I surprised myself to see I was still wearing the apron. On an impulse I picked up a glass thing and used the apron on it as a dustcloth.

"I hope he likes it," I murmured. There was a heavy silence during which I couldn't believe I had said the words aloud. Red-faced I could only peek sidelong to confirm that my words had indeed registered fully with Maud. She regarded me with a steely gaze.

"I am hoping he does too," she said bluntly.

My mouth opened, but no words came out. Maud twisted her mouth into a sour sort of smile and beckoned to me with her hand.

"Oh Sue, if you could only see the expression on your face," she growled. I backed away and nearly upset the small table and so found myself cornered. She waited until she had caught my eye again.

"I know you are imagining I am in love with him," she told me in a matter-of-fact way that left me flabbergasted. "I assure you I am not, but I hope you understand how important his visit is as well."

I frowned at her. I didn't know what she was getting at, but more than that, I didn't like the look on her face. Her jaw was set and the tight muscles of her neck made all her features seem sharper. I had seen this look on her only once or twice before, but that was before I knew what it was. This was the cruel and cunning Maud who dared to pretend to love a fiend like Gentleman, and who could betray her best friend to get what she wanted.

"Don't look at me like that," she admonished me, but gently. Then she walked over to the sofa and sat down at one end, leaving plenty of room for me and folded her hands neatly in her lap like one of those Improvement ladies. I hesitated but couldn't risk offending her and so finally moved to the sofa too. All the while not a word was exchanged until I was settled and met her candid eyes.

I finally broke the silence said in a timid voice, "What d'you mean, by _important_, Maud?"

I watched her eyes search my face, trying to read me. She was choosing her words carefully, like she was dictating lessons. "You know we kept very little company here at Briar, when I was living here under your uncle."

I said nothing, but nodded.

She continued. "What company we had was only because of your uncle's peculiar interests."

_Your _uncle, she called him. I recognised the way she tried to distance herself from that connection.

Maud moistened her lips before she went on. "You saw some of those men in London, Sue. What did you think of them?"

"They were monsters," I said straight off. A twitch of her eye registered the hit.

"They are gentlemen, Sue," she corrected me, and held up a hand to stifle my protest. "Yes, Gentlemen. Perhaps not the ordinary sort," she gave a sharp laugh, "Or maybe all too common, but at least not the type portrayed in the good magazines, but they are gentlemen just the same. Do you know what makes them so?"

"Money," I blurted. I really hadn't a clue where the conversation was going.

Maud shook her head. "Anyone can have money, thieves have money."

I ignored the barb. "Go on."

"They are gentlemen because they have connections," she explained. "Everywhere they go these connections are as good as an introduction. No matter what we think of them they are respected among a section of Society."

I'd heard enough. "Respected? I can't believe you, Maud, and why are you talking about those men? They're disgusting!"

"I am not defending them, Sue. I am using them as an example."

"Of what? It's making me sick just thinking about it!" I cried and began to rise.

She suddenly seized my hand. "Hear me out, Sue."

Her face was so earnest that I relented and merely nodded at her. When she was satisfied I was settled she turned her gaze to the carpet and continued.

"I have been thinking much about my situation of late, but especially after yesterdays chance encounter with Mr Lloyd," she said.

She looked up at me and there was pain in her eyes. Oh God here it comes, I worried.

"Ouchl, you will crush my fingers! It's not what you suppose," she said and extricated her hand from mine to nurse her fingers before she continued. "I was thinking of the unfairness that allowed Mr Lilly's friends to have the freedom to go anywhere in Society while I am… talked about, and shunned."

"But it's just because they're m-" I began.

"Men?" She spat the word. "Yes, they have all the advantages of their sex, but you do not know half of what I know of them, Sue… of what depravity they are capable of. You were right when you said they were monsters. They are, and should be despised by everyone, but they get away with it because they know how to play the game. While I lived here all those years I was not so stupid that I did not learn how it is played"

"Game?"

She gave me a patronising smile. "The game of Good Society. It is like a sport, you know, and with Mr Lloyds help we will use it to our advantage. You must be familiar with it. Even I, who was never permitted to have any connections, know how it works."

She donned her school teacher manners again before she continued.

"Mr Lloyd will call, and then we will return the call. He will introduce us to his family and acquaintances and then we will call on them as well. In turn, they will return the call and come to Briar and leave cards, and round we will go again, and each time the little circle of our acquaintances will get larger. That was how it works in Society. That is how you get you get a name people will vouchsafe, not by …" she stopped and bit her words before shaking her head.

But I understood her perfectly. Her name would be restored by work as painstaking as any done in the workhouse, or as meticulous as any locksmith's, not by flashing gold coins to any old London shop assistant. That was how Maud would get her name back and then I would get my Maud back too and from there we could do anything, and go anywhere together. But I knew what a risk I was taking. I would have to welcome Mr Lloyd and his flirtations with Maud and worse, I had to encourage him too. I had to reassured myself that it was all just a scheme to Maud. After all, she wouldn't do nothing to deceive me, would she? _Would she_?

I shouldn't have been so worried, I should have been happy Maud and I had finally seen our way together, but I was not. Cause I knew that from that day on we were in Mr Lloyds hands, for better or worse.

********* To Be Continued **********


End file.
